


The Things God Gave Us

by haleyross



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bird, Crows, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Self-Harm, Wingfic, Wings, off-canon, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27945212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleyross/pseuds/haleyross
Summary: Lucifer is changed after being found half-dead in the desert. The only person who can help him is Chloe, but lending a shoulder to lean on to a man who believes himself to be the devil may not be that easy.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 187
Kudos: 449





	1. Who?

\----

The stars above sparkle as the clear night casts the dull shine of moonlight on Death Valley's still canvas of sand and rock. Without the sun shining above, it is cooler, much cooler. It is the biting cold that wakes him and pulls Lucifer out of his forced unconsciousness. He blinks, lifting his head up slowly as sand sticks to the side of his face.

An owl, perched on the top of a nearby rock, hoots in the calm silence of the night. Its hoot echoes and mixes with the sound of nearby crickets as it twists its head and turns to the body shifting on the ground nearby. He slowly sits up, stretching his legs out in front of him and taking note of his environment.

"Who?" the owl hoots again.

He turns to it, eyes it for a moment, then bats the sand off his face.

"That is the question, isn't it?" he offers, slowly standing. That is when he takes note of the fact that he is shirtless and shoeless. He's been stripped of everything but his pants. At least they left him those. He brings his hand up and eyes the ring on his finger. And his ring. At least they left him his ring.

"Who?" the owl hoots again.

"Yes, yes. We get it. Don't you have anything bloody else to say?"

The owl turns to him, blinks, and stretches its neck as it hoots louder.

"Who?"

He scoffs and pats his pants. No phone, no wallet. No way to contact anyone to let them know where he is. That is when the urgency of the situation hits him. Chloe didn't know where he was. She must be worried sick about him. He had told her he was going to come over and tell her everything. Anything she had wanted to know about him, he would tell her.

"Shit," he huffs, more annoyed than afraid. He supposes he could summon Amenadiel, but without his wings, Amenadiel is useless. It would take him just as long to walk to the nearest payphone as it would for anyone to reach him via vehicle.

He grunts and resigns himself to walking. If he's lucky, he could make it back to Los Angeles before dawn. There he could have breakfast with the Detective and tell her what he intended to tell her. The weight of his admission feels relieving and terrifying, but he smiles, ready to take that leap. She deserved to know it all, for him to open up in a way that he never has. She saw him as something more than what he thought he was, more than a monster, and that … that felt-

He stops dead in his tracks as a sickening pain shoots into the joints of his shoulder blades. It feels like a knife is sinking beneath the bone on both sides of his body, causing him to arc his spine backwards. It is sharp enough to send him crashing to his knees. He pitches forward and plants his hands on the sand in front of him, prostrating as the pain pierces deep into his bone.

He cries out in an unfettered bellow as the pain intensifies and cripples him, laying him flat on the ground. Coyotes in the distance howl in response. His shoulder blades lift, and the muscles around them shift and stretch to accommodate a swelling pocket beneath the bone. This agony is inhuman, and it forces his eyes to glow red as he holds on, his fingers clawing at the sand beneath his hands. Slowly, the fire in his eyes dulls and is replaced by shimmering deep brown. He begins to cry as the vein on his forehead bulges, and his face reddens. His grunt deepens into a painful growl, then teary submission as he abandons all pride in favor of self-preservation. He can’t pass out, he won’t. Then, as if the pain couldn’t get any worse, it does. Two feathered spurs rip themselves from his back, cutting open skin and sending a warm river of blood cascading down his back onto the white sand below. It looks as though he is giving birth from his back, the two nubs covered in a thin see-through sac that protects the pure white feathers below.

He begins to drool, the pain so sharp and heady he forsakes control of his facilities to focus on one thing and one thing only; survival. If he weren’t immortal, he might think this is death. His pants begin to soak themselves with urine, and his body shakes as his system is so overcome with adrenaline that he doesn’t even howl anymore.

The wings continue to pull from him, like the sprouting shoot of a seed as it claws its way to sunlight. As they spread and widen, the sharp edges of his primaries cut open the sac and allow the newly sprouted wings to stretch and grow.

The sound of his soft whimpering is barely masked by the sound of bone cracking and skin splitting. He hears it, but more so he can feel it and smell it. The urine, the blood. As if wings weren’t humiliating enough, he’s soiled himself. A wave of nausea hits him seconds before his stomach churns, and he vomits. The wings continue to pull from beneath his shoulder blade, but more so from the pocket universe, they cut through. It is more than physical pain it is spiritual. It is an alteration of his being, and he doesn't have time to process what it means, only that it hurts, and he wants it to stop.

Just when he can feel his resolve slipping, and he feels himself on the verge of passing out, it stops. He is left in the silence of the desert, the cold night feeling much colder against the heat of divinity. His stomach churns again, and he vomits. He gags and weeps and spits. He attempts to stand, very aware of the new weight on his back. Slowly, he gets his legs beneath him, but they wobble like the legs of a newborn fawn. He takes a few steps forward, drunk on the endorphins of pain. The giant wings behind him stretch and wriggle, the thin and skin-like sheathe hanging off a few of the feathers like the molted skin of a snake. They extend to their full glory, as if taking pride in their new place on his back. Then, without warning, they shift and retract into his body. The feathers retract like spring-loaded blades into the newly carved hole in his existence.

Then, everything goes black.

\--

Chloe had been angry all weekend. Lucifer had called her and said he was ready to open up, that he was ready to tell her everything.

_Everything_ , he said, then nothing. He wasn't even answering his phone. Part of her had expected it because every time they get close, he runs away. Still, it is hard to deny that this particular time hurts, maybe even more so than the first time, or had it been the second time? At this point, she's lost track. She's lost track of the random women, the hiding things from her, the disappearing off to Vegas for some fly-by-the-night wedding. What if he was in Vegas again, shacked up with someone he barely even knew? Or worse, someone that knew _him_.

No, she was done. She was done with his madness and was completely ready to just accept that she would never know him, that they would never _truly_ be close. That the fantasy of them she had sometimes imagined, of him being kinder and gentler and more … normal, that would never be.

But that anger, that resignation, was before the report landed in her email. It was nothing that warranted a second glance, just a sad story about a man flying a drone out in the desert that caught something strange on camera. That was before police had narrowed down the area, sent out a search party, and stumbled onto a dazed and conscious, but non-responsive and badly burned man.

The man they found was disoriented, confused and lost. He had no I.D. and was unable to give his name. It didn’t seem like he was expected to live, and as shitty as it sounded, she had lost interest in the story. That was until it mentioned what was on his person: a single pair of sun-weathered pants and a dark onyx ring.

It was the ring that gave him away.

It didn't take her long to track down the hospital they sent him to, and from there it is only a few hours before she pulls into the hospital parking lot, her siren blaring. It wasn't an emergency per se, but it was important to her. Something had happened to her partner, and suddenly she felt guilty for stewing in her anger. For running through her head all the ways in which she would ignore him from now on, while somewhere in the desert he was lost, maybe even unconscious. She stows that guilt away as she walks through the doorway of Lucifer’s hospital room. She finds him staring solemnly out the window, his form a far cry from the proud and confident man she had seen only days prior.

"Lucifer?" she asks, uncertainty in her voice. The whole ride she had expected the worst. She was afraid his body – dehydrated and overheated – would have shut down. She was afraid he wouldn't remember his name ... or worse, hers. Relief floods into her system when he turns to her, the shadow of recognition in his eyes. 

"Detective," he whispers, both pleased and despondent.

There is urgency in her gait as she heaves forward and throws her arms around him. It doesn't even factor into her mind that it might hurt, that her arms around his blistered and open wounds might sting. She is so relieved to not have to identify his body that she doesn't even stop to think about why he is standing in the middle of his room instead of laying in bed, ice packs tucked beneath his most temperature-sensitive parts.

"I was so worried," she says, trying to hold back tears. She backs away from him to survey the damage only to find there is none. He conspicuously lacks the normal IV bags one would get if they were found in the desert with a high body temperature. In fact, the report said they found him incredibly sunburnt with welts and burned skin. Yet, his skin looks normal and pink, a far cry from how he was supposedly found.

"Are you … you're okay?" she asks, surprised.

He tosses her a small smile. "In a manner of speaking." His voice is oddly flat, devoid of its normal charm. "Now, will you please tell them I'm okay to go? Apparently, I'm unable to check myself out until I urinate." 

She shakes her head. "Lucifer, you were found wandering in the desert."

"Yes, I am aware, but I'm fine now," he says, spreading his arms. "See?" He spins around to prove his point. His hospital gown is not tied, and he gives her a _very_ clear shot of his backside.

Her eyes widen before they trail up to the smooth skin of his back. The large crescent-shaped scars on his shoulder blades, the ones he had begged her not to touch, are gone. How is that possible? She furrows her eyebrows as he turns around.

"Now, please. This cotton blend is unbecoming."

"Your scars," she says, pointing.

"Hmm?"

She approaches and turns him around slowly to get a better look at his back. Her hands come up to touch him, to make sure she sees correctly, but then she pauses. She remembers the last time she tried to touch him there he didn't respond favorably.

"They’re gone," she says, pure confusion in her voice as she forces her hands away from him.

His eyes go dark and distant, unfeeling. When he doesn't respond, she turns him around to match his gaze. He stares off into nothingness. 

"Lucifer?" she asks, recognizing the look in his eyes. He is not there anymore, at least not mentally. He is somewhere else, somewhere that makes his frame lock up, and his eyes stare at one spot on the wall.

"Chloe," he says, tossing her name into the darkness and hoping it finds purchase somewhere safe. The way he says it is wrong, so wrong, and it immediately makes the hair on her neck stand on edge.

"I want to go home," he says, his voice cracking beneath the pressure of holding _something_ in.

She watches him stare into nothingness – avoiding her gaze. "Okay," she whispers.

\--

The car ride to LUX is smooth and relatively quiet. Lucifer sits in the front passenger seat donned in a borrowed burgundy hoodie and a pair of new grey sweatpants. He plants his elbow against the back of the chair just enough that his back hovers inches from the seat.

"And you’re sure you feel okay?" she asks, her eyes bouncing back and forth from him to the road, "because if not we can take you to a hospital closer and-"

"I'm the devil, darling. If you think a little heat is going to kill me, I dare say you aren't read up on your religious texts."

She shakes her head, "I don't know how you managed," she says, "but you have some luck."

"Do I?" he asks, genuinely.

"Yeah, anyone else would have died in that desert."

"Mm, I believe that was the point," he says to himself.

"How did you even end up there?"

He shakes his head. "I was accosted. The last thing I remember was ending my phone call to you and then …" He pauses, his eyebrows furrowed. "Everything went dark."

"Whoever did this, we will find them," she says, gripping her steering wheel tightly. Angry at them but more so angry at herself. Angry at allowing herself to believe he would ghost her again.

Lucifer looks at her. "Yes," he says, a confusion behind his words. He was hit over the head, and the Detective wasn't close by. Or was she?

"Well, I'm just glad you're alive," Chloe says.

Lucifer just hums to himself, an air of discontent in his tone.

She pretends she can’t read him like a book, like she doesn’t see the worry and grief behind his thin smile. Whatever this is, whatever has happened … he’s not ready to talk about it. And to be fair to him, she’s not sure she is ready to hear the answer.

The truth about what happened to his scars. So, like every other strange thing about him, she tucks it away. She stores it in a list of peculiarities about her partner and lets other things take precedent. Things like getting him home.

\--

The elevator doors open and Lucifer steps into the comfortable stillness of his penthouse. He immediately makes a beeline for the bar and pours himself a hefty glass of whiskey. Chloe walks in behind him, watching him with concern on her face.

He downs the shot like it’s orange juice.

“You should probably be drinking water,” she says.

He turns to her, regards her for a moment then sets the decanter down before offering her a small smile.

“Thank you for coming to my aid, Detective,” he says, his words oddly detached, “I imagine you have things you’d rather be doing than watching over the devil.”

She shakes her head and approaches the bar. “No, no. I’m here for you Lucifer. Dan has Trixie tonight so … if you need me for anything, if you need to talk. I’m here.”

His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes and it feels strained, forced, but he offers it anyway. “You’ve done more for me than most humans would,” he says, “but I assure you I will do well on my own. In fact, I believe I quite prefer it.”

She nods, “Right, you … you need some time.”

He stares at her as she nods her head. He knows what he should do, what he should say. He knows he should offer her some explanation, but how can he when he barely has his head wrapped around the idea himself?

“What happened to you?” she asks, the worry behind her eyes. “Should I be concerned that it will happen again or … maybe we missed something at the hospital?”

He sighs, his hand coming to rest on hers. She turns her eyes to it, his touch is gentle yet reserved.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

She stares at him for a moment before nodding and pulling her hand away.

“Okay well ..,” she says, folding her arms. “I’ll speak to the new Lieutenant tomorrow about maybe getting you on medical leave. It should give you a few days to rest and-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Detective. Bright and early.”

She stares at him for a while, sorting through her mind things she might be able to say to convince him otherwise. “Okay,” she ends up saying reluctantly. 

He regards her for a moment, unsure as to why she might still be here after what appeared to be a goodbye. Then, it clicks. “Oh, of course,” he says, reaching down and slipping the burgundy hoodie off.

“Oh, you don’t-“

“You can take back your horribly inexpensive jacket, Detective. Though, judging by the size and the smell of cheap cologne, it belongs to the douche.”

She huffs amused, her body relaxing slightly at his joke. “You’re welcome.” She grabs the hoodie from him and folds it in her arms.

“Take these while you’re at it,” he says, slipping off the grey sweatpants. Before she can even say anything, he is naked in front of her and holding out the pants for her to take.

Her eyes widen as she maintains a celestial amount of focus on his face and _only_ his face. “You … you can keep those,” she says, “I bought them just for you.”

He tilts his head. “Well, you shouldn’t have.”

She closes her eyes, her resolve waning. “See you tomorrow.” She spins on her heels and quickly walks towards the elevator.

“Until tomorrow, Detective,” he calls after her.

The elevator doors close and his eyes drift towards the mirror behind the bar. He stares for a moment, his feigned smile fading into an undetectable emotion. He turns his attention to the sweatpants in his hand and sighs. A gift is a gift. He’ll have to regulate this particular item to the back of his closet. He folds and sets it on a bar stool before turning his eyes down to the full decanter of whiskey on the bar. He stares at it for a moment before popping the top off and tipping the container into his mouth. He chugs the whiskey with no regard for its complex flavor profile, then sets the empty decanter on the bar.

He turns his head towards a small box sitting on the side table near the sofa. His eyes narrow, as if peering through the walnut lid. He stomps over to the box and carelessly flings the lid open to reveal a small curved dagger inside. He reaches in and pulls it out, twisting the blade and allowing it to shine in the light from above. 

“You think you can do as you please?” Lucifer says, “as if I’m some _thing_ to alter as you wish? A wall to be painted in whatever color suits your fancy?”

He laughs, a strangely calm but maniacal laugh.

“We’ll see.”

He walks over to the steps that lead into his bedroom and begins to ascend. Suddenly, his wings pop out to full span and hit the archway to his bedroom, hindering his movement forward. It feels like a protest.

He tenses his jaw and shifts his shoulders, asserting control and folding them back enough for him to walk through the archway. Then, he turns and enters the bathroom, the blade gripped firmly in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a forewarning in case the tags didn't make it clear, there will be minor discussion of self-harm in this fic, so if that is something that triggers you, please read some of my other fics instead. They are smuttier and more lighthearted.
> 
> Big thanks to **[@jammededed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jammededed)** for proofreading this fic for me and making great suggestions. Turns out I am a comma whore and you can't stop me!
> 
> Follow me on hrfiction.tumblr.com to stay up to date with my other fics and see when I update.


	2. Counting Crows

\---

This new Lucifer is different. 

He is quiet, unusually so. He doesn't eat Dan's pudding or drink from his flask at her desk. During interviews, he is silent and reflective. She hadn’t truly known how much his behaviors, the ones she would categorize as annoying, made him so … _him_. Chloe wonders why he even bothers to come in if he just wants to sit and stare out into nothing. She suggests he speak with Linda and almost sends him home, but he tells her no, citing something about Linda having dealt with enough celestial nonsense. His insistence on being called the devil is strangely comforting, so she doesn’t call him on it and she doesn’t make him take time off. He needed time to recover, but the thought of forcing him to be alone after spending two days lost in the desert seems wrong. So, she lets him tag along and to his credit, even while silent, he makes a wonderful companion.

Still, this new Lucifer is different.

It doesn’t take her long to notice the small things. The first, and most obvious, habit is that he keeps his back off of things. Chairs, walls. In the event his back would normally touch something, he props himself up with his elbows. Most of their car rides are spent with his elbow dug deep into the back of his seat.

On the topic of car rides, before he was found in the desert he could sit in a car without much fidgeting. Now, the second the door is closed he rolls down his window and sticks his face into the wind. She asks him once why he does it and the look on his face, as if he had been caught doing something he wasn’t aware he was doing, makes her never ask him again. When she apologizes, he just nods and stares out the window silently.

That is also a new thing, his silence. Even now, as they interview the clerk of a laundromat, he stands beside her, silent.

"Have you seen her at all this week?" Chloe asks, pointing to a photo the man has in his hands.

He shakes his head. "No, not since last Friday."

"Has she ever come in here with anyone else? A friend or lover? Maybe family?"

The man narrows his eyes, thinking, before nodding. "Yeah, I’ve seen her with a guy in here a few times. Coulda been her brother? Craig.”

“Who?” she asks.

Next to her Lucifer gasps, his eyes going distant.

The man shakes his head again. “I don’t know, but I overheard her calling him Craig or Greg, something like that.”

Chloe nods as she writes it down. Her eyes turn to check on Lucifer and finds him standing stiff as a board next to her, his eyes locked on a spot on the ground. She pauses.

“Lucifer?” she says.

But he isn’t there, he is somewhere else.

She stops writing and reaches out to grab his arm. The second she touches him, he flinches and blinks a few times, clearing away whatever he sees. She quickly lets go of him. “Sorry.”

He stares at her for a moment before offering her a small smile. “Apologies, I was …I am here. Did you - do you need me to ask his desires?”

She shakes her head no, her eyebrows furrowed at how easily he moved from that distant stare to his forced smile. “No, we’re almost done. If you want, you can wait in the car while I finish.”

He waves her off. “Don’t be silly.”

She watches him for a moment, taking him in. Her gut tells her something is wrong, but she swallows it down before turning back to the man in front of her.

On a bench nearby, a lone crow lands. It blinks and tilts its head, watching Lucifer with interest. Just as quickly as the crow came, it leaves. Lucifer is too busy staring at the man in front of him to notice. He’s not paying attention, of course, but it’s nice white noise to drown out the intrusive thoughts in his head.

Thoughts of his punishment and of the pain. Of the _humiliation_. He had made something for himself here, something of his own, and it had been taken away from him too easily. It wasn’t the wings that make him distant and quiet. No, he had had his wings for much longer than he hadn’t. It was the question in his head of why it had been so easy. Why, knowing the pain and humiliation he would feel, his dad had chosen to give them back anyway. They were a reminder of just how powerless and insignificant and unloved he is. That it is far too easy to change him, to punish him, to use him as his dad saw fit. 

And they keep coming back. Why won’t they disa- 

The crow returns and Lucifer’s eyes turn to it. _CAW!_ It barks at him, its head tilting, and knocks him out of his thoughts.

Lucifer jumps at the sudden noise, pulling himself upright. It is the one time his spine doesn’t bow forward. His movement catches Chloe’s attention and she turns to him, her eyebrows still furrowed in concern. He fiddles with his cuffs, trying to put on an air of apathy, his back slowly curving over again. When she turns to take her eyes off him, he turns back to the crow to find it has multiplied. Now there are two crows. Both of them tilt their heads and blink at Lucifer, utterly fascinated.

Lucifer purses his lips, unhappy.

 _CAW!_ The first one barks followed by a second bark from his friend. _CAW!_

His eyes flip to Chloe to make sure she is still preoccupied. Her head tilts their way, noticing the birds paying an odd amount of attention to Lucifer, but she continues her conversation with the man. Lucifer watches her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the crows.

He stares at them, distaste behind his brown eyes.

“Thank you,” he hears as Chloe turns and approaches him.

“We’re done here,” she says crossing her arms. “He says he hasn’t seen our suspect so … I suppose we’re back to square one.”

Lucifer nods. “I’m sorry, Detective. I’m sure you will find something very soon.”

She nods, her eyes taking in every inch of him. “You sure you’re okay? You seem … I don’t know, off.”

He nods and fixes his jacket. “Quite healthy, in fact,” he says, offering her a placid smile.

She narrows her eyes before turning her attention to the crows on the bench. They dislike her gaze and immediately fly away. He turns to watch them as they soar higher and higher before disappearing over the laundromat. Then, he hears the distant litany of birds barking.

CAW!

CAW!

_CAW!_

Lucifer narrows his eyes, something strange catching his attention. Without saying a word, he walks away from Chloe. She watches him, seeing him completely captivated by something else.

“Lucifer?”

When he reaches the corner of the block, he is met with an intersection full of birds sitting on electric wires.

“What the –“

CAW! CAW! They bark in unison, one after the other. Theif cries overlap and mix with the sound of cars driving by.

“What the hell?” she asks, a few steps behind him.

Lucifer turns to her. She looks just as confused as he does. “A bit on the nose, darling.”

“That is a lot of birds,” she says, aghast.

He hums, watching them.

She eyes him and smiles. “I think they sense an earthquake,” she says, amused.

“They can sense it,” he says, his eyes taking in each bird individually. They stare at him, knowing. He swallows his spit, his throat suddenly dry. “They are convinced I am a fledgling of sorts because I haven’t flown yet. I imagine they won’t leave me alone until they believe I can fend for myself.”

He turns to her, his eyes dark and flat. “That, or they might assume me to be an easy meal. Injured birds don’t last in the wild.”

She turns to him, confusion miring her features. The air between them is strange and uncomfortable. Lucifer calling himself the devil she had learned to find charming, but this … what was this?

“Not that I’m a bird but … winged creatures tend to all be similar, don’t they? At least here on earth.” He offers her a small smile. When she doesn’t smile back, he turns back towards the birds, sadness dulling what little shine there is in his eyes. _Winged_ creatures. He was a winged creature now.

“Hey.” She softly holds onto his arm, pulling his attention away from the birds. 

He doesn’t turn to her immediately, but he also doesn’t flinch this time.

“Hey,” she says again, moving her head into his vision to look him in the eyes, “Everything okay?”

His eyes connect with hers and he regards her briefly, as if deciding she were okay to talk to. He opens his mouth to say something but no words come out. How could he explain? She would never believe him. No matter what he says she would look at him with pity. She would look at him as a fool. He could probably get Dr. Martin to explain but, after her close call and near introduction to Azreal, he couldn’t bring himself to involve her in any more celestial nonsense. Not while she is healing. No, he was alone in this. He couldn’t even tell Amenadiel.

“I’m here,” she says, squeezing his arm to emphasize her presence. For once, he doesn’t flinch. “You can tell me. You can tell me anything.” 

“I ...” he begins, trying to form words. He wants to ask what he did to deserve it, but … he knows what he did. 

Her phone rings and she turns to answer it.

“Decker.”

He shuts his mouth and turns back to the line of birds on the street. It’s the one moment he isn’t offended by her interrupting phone.

“We’re on our way,” she says, turning to Lucifer and nodding her head towards the car.

The ride back to the precinct is silent. She weaves safely through traffic, hurrying to get to what might be a break in their case. Lucifer, his elbow pressed firmly into the seat of the car, stares forward.

She eyes him for a second before sighing. “Lucifer,” she says slowly, “I … I want to help you, but I need you to talk to me.”

He turns to her, his stare flat and empty. Without the softness behind his eyes, without the sparkle, Lucifer looks older, much older. Like a man who has seen all there is to see, or a man who has seen too much.

“I didn’t mean to cut you off. You were going to say something back there?” she asks.

He regards her for a long time before facing forward. “I was punished.”

“Punished? Wha- by who?” 

“My Father. For what I did. For _everything_ I did.”

“Lucifer … I-” She reaches a hand out and places it on his knee. He flinches and she retracts her hand quickly. “Sorry!”

He offers her a small smile, but she can see it is hollow. She doesn’t like the way he flinches, or the way his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. It rings alarm bells in her head about what he could have gone through. “Whatever happened,” she says, “you can tell me, you know that right? I won’t judge you. It’s … not your fault, okay?”

He watches her, taking her in as she juggles her glance between the road and him. “I wish I could believe you,” he says after a long while.

She shakes her head and sighs. “Lucifer … ”

He reaches a hand forward and depresses a button on the car door. The window rolls down, sending a cool wave of air rushing into the car. He leans his face into it and closes his eyes.

She sighs, lost on what to do.

This new Lucifer is different.

\--

The heat of the sun is suffocating. If it weren’t for the breeze that kicks a light dust of sand across his body, Lucifer might be sure he is in Hell. Instead, he is barely conscious, drifting between Death Valley's dry heat and the unending ash in his dreams. Devoid of his normal accoutrements, Lucifer is barely himself. Save for the onyx ring seared onto his finger, he is anonymous; merely a body between the craggy rocks and spiky cacti. It isn’t the sweltering heat of the sun, or the forlorn emptiness of his dreams that wakes him, however, it is the distant cry of buzzards circling above him.

His wake is slow and painful, each movement tearing open the thin and dry skin on his bare torso. He winces, the welts on his body cracking open as he pushes himself off the heated ground. He stands, groaning through each new open tear as his form straightens. A cloud of confusion swirls around him. Everything is so bright and unrecognizable. He _feels_ unrecognizable. And heavy. Why is he so-

His head turns as he catches a large white wall in his peripheral vision. He glances at it before the haunting pang of recognition clears away the confused haze in his eyes. He is fully present and cognizant now, enough to understand what he is seeing and why it is so wrong.

Wings.

His wings are back.

So, it wasn’t a dream then? The pain from last night, of them pulling themselves out of his body like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat, that was real?

His eyes dart back and forth, trying to make sense of this. Trying to come to terms with it all. He turns his eyes up to the sky, up towards the unrelenting rays of the sun. Small cracks open on his chapped lips as they quiver, tears coming to his eyes. His mouth is dry but not dry enough to prevent his tongue from forming around the word on his mind.

 _Why?_ is all he can muster, his throat dry and his mouth hollow.

“Lucifer?” 

Lucifer snaps out of it and turns to find Chloe staring at him. The inside of the interrogation room is unlike the inside of his mind. Here the hot heat of the sun gives way to the cooling blast of indoor air conditioner. He is clothed and clean and everything is within its rightful place. Except now he is so very aware of how _wrong_ he feels. Her hand is on his arm, holding on tightly as he braces himself against the wall. He blinks away the sand and the rocks and the vultures. His face is pale, and his body is visibly shaking.

“I’m here. Do you feel sick?” she asks, intense worry behind her eyes.

He watches her for a moment before stability enters his frame and he pushes himself off the wall. “Detective, I assure you I am perfectly healthy,” he offers, his voice wavering only slightly. He is present, but not fully.

She watches him, taking him in and reading between the unspoken lines. She turns towards the suspect across the table from them. His hair is scraggly, unkempt, and she can smell the day-drinking from here.

“I’m sure I can do this on my own,” she offers. “Why don’t you wait outside? Get some water?”

“Detective I-”

“That’s not a suggestion,” she says firmly, moving to open the door for him.

He bites his words back and nods, his eyes still working to blink away the sun and the buzzards. 

“Right.” He reluctantly steps through the doorway into the hall. She closes the door behind him and he takes note of his environment before setting eyes on the water cooler. He blinks again and takes a step forward. Each step feels like walking barefoot on hot sand. A nearby phone rings and sounds an awful lot like the distant cry of a vulture. He blinks again, his muscles tensing under the strain of holding it together, of holding _them_ in.

When he makes it to the water cooler, he grabs a paper cup and fills it with cold water. He watches the bubble rise to the top of the container before lifting the cup and taking a sip. The cool water down his throat tempers the images in his head. The more he drinks, the more solid he feels.

Water. Turns out he did need a drink of water.

He tosses the cup into the trashcan and heads down the hallway towards Chloe’s desk. Before he enters the wide open space of the bullpen, he pauses and looks. It was one of his favorite things to do, people watch. It was easy to figure out their desires by asking, but oftentimes - as he learned - he could figure it out just by watching them.

It was calming and familiar, and -

An officer walks by, sees Lucifer, and gives him a gentle slap on the back. 

“Hey buddy, thanks for the -”

Lucifer immediately turns, grabs the officer by the lapel and _slams_ him against the opposite wall, forcing the officer to drop the file in his hand. It hits the floor and paper floats down the hall.

“You do not touch me!” he growls.

The officer looks at him confused and fearful. 

Somewhere in his mind, Lucifer hears a door open.

“Lucifer!” Chloe moves to him, prepared to pull him away.

“I am not yours to do with as you please!” 

The officer turns his head, discomfort written all over his face.

“Stop!” She attempts to yank his hand away from the officer but he doesn’t immediately let go. Chloe shifts into his view, wedging her body between Lucifer and the officer. She pushes on his torso, her knee coming up to give her leverage. 

“Lucifer!” she grunts.

Then, his grip releases and Chloe is able to push him away. He moves willingly as other officers come by, looking to see what is going on. The officer slides away from the wall and steps a few feet into the bullpen.

“What was that about?” another officer asks him. He shrugs, completely shocked.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. He’s … he’s having a rough time,” Chloe says, her hand on Lucifer’s chest as she pushes him away. She pushes him to the end of the corridor, far enough away from other officers.

“What the hell?” she asks, her voice low and angered.

His eyes turn to her, a boiling rage behind them.

“What was that?” 

“He had no _right_ , Detective,” he says, flipping his eyes back to the man.

“Lucifer, you’re overreacting.”

Lucifer scoffs and steps forward. “He needs to be punished. He _deserves_ to be punished.”

She pushes him back until his back hits the wall.

“Hey! Calm down,” she orders. 

His rage falls into a brief panic and he slips from under her hand, twisting himself away from the wall and standing in the center of the hallway. She stares at him, her lips pursed at his behavior. She looks around before getting close to him, her voice low.

“Look, I’ve been very …hands-off with you. I know something is going on, but I don’t know what. So, I’m just going to ask it okay?” she says. “Did ... did someone _do_ something to you? Maybe did something you didn’t want to do? Something you don’t think you deserved?”

He scoffs, his disgust doing a poor job of masking the shame and confusion behind his eyes. He doesn’t have to answer for her to see the answer is yes. She approaches him, laying a hand gently on his arm, her voice lower and soothing. He doesn’t flinch.

“Talk to me,” she says. “It’ll make you feel better if you tell somebody.”

He scoffs again. “What’s the point?” he asks her, meeting her gaze. “You won’t bloody believe a word I say.” 

“Lucifer…” 

He waves her off and turns, storming towards the steps. He bumps into a chair on the way and shoves it, offended by its insistence on being in his path. It hits a wall across the room, further than it should physically go. She watches him as he continues up the steps without stopping or turning around.

She takes in a deep sigh and shakes her head. This new Lucifer is different. Whatever happened to him is eating him up inside, she can see it.

\--

For days after, it feels like she has a shell of her former partner. He seems lost in his own mind, his actions more performative than real. He often vacillates between rage and pretending nothing happened. She speaks with Linda about it and asks what is going on with him. Linda offers her very little but insists he needs someone to be there for him. So that is what she does. She tries to make their days as normal as possible, and on rare occasions she prods him to do his eye trick on a difficult suspect. He does it and it works, but it lacks a certain flair that he would normally have. He seems resigned, gone. This Lucifer doesn’t feel like hers, it feels like she lost him in the desert.

It only fuels her desire to find out what happened to him, to bring him justice in some way. To feel something other than utterly useless. Perhaps that is partly why Chloe is upset when the trail runs frigid. When any information regarding Lucifer’s abduction seemingly disappears into thin air, as if it was never there in the first place. As if finding him in the desert was some fever dream she made up in her mind. She tries to get him to speak with Linda again, but he categorically denies her. She feels like she is losing her partner. She feels like she is losing her best friend.

Just as she is starting to drive herself sick with doubt and fear and worry, Lucifer enters the precinct, seemingly back to his normal self. He stands tall, his back strong and no longer hunched over like he bears the weight of the world on his shoulders. His suit is well-tailored and pristine with not a single hair misplaced. He bounces on his heels like he just got good news, or – probably more likely – just got laid.

“Detective,” he says, his tone smooth and sing-songy.

It makes her heart swell with joy and forces a smile on her face to hear him so utterly himself again.

He sits down in his chair, the one next to her desk, with a large and casual smile on his face. “What great mischief shall we foil today, hmm? No more paperwork I hope.”

She smiles at him, happy to see him so lively. Her smile falls slightly as she takes note of how he leans forward when he sits, still keeping his back off the chair. It was him, but it was not all of him. One thing at a time, she supposes.

“I take it you’re feeling better?”

“Right as rain.”

She smiles. “Good, I’m glad. I was … starting to worry.”

He stares at her for a while, his smile slowly falling. He regards her for a moment before a lecherous grin etches onto his face. “Are you saying you were thinking of me, Detective?”

She rolls her eyes and smiles. She missed this banter. “Yeah, I was,” she admits, allowing him this one moment.

He coos and leans forward. “Do go on, darling. Tell me every dirty detail.”

She smiles and leans forward, taking him in for a moment and just enjoying the gift of his presence. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He watches her for a moment before his smile fades off his face. She sees the brief second his mask falls and her breakfast churns in her stomach. He wears the costume well, but this too is not her Lucifer.

“Of course, I am,” he says with a tense smile. “I’ve finally figured out what he wants from me.”

“What who wants?”

“My father,” Lucifer says, his hand waving around as he does when he explains things. “You see he punished me to prove he has some tyrannical control over what happens to me. What happens to my body. Ergo, if I just play his game for a bit, he’ll release me of my punishment, and I can finally rid myself of these wretched wings.”

Chloe sighs and rests her chin in her hands. She shakes her head, the brief moment of hope that Lucifer was back to normal now completely flung into the trash.

“You’re bargaining,” she says sitting up.

“Pardon?”

“Bargaining. When we believe that if we go along with something, or become someone different, that something good will happen, or that something bad will be undone. It’s one of the stages of grief.”

He huffs before chuckling to himself. “Darlin’ you’re starting to sound like Dr. Martin.”

“So you _have_ been seeing Linda? Good, Good. I was worried that-”

“Dr. Martin has enough to worry about without me faffing about and getting her caught up in more celestial drama, Detective.”

Chloe sighs, disappointed. “Right.”

“And I’m perfectly fine. I’ll just spend a few hours being a good devil, assist you in punishing the bad guys, and then I’ll go home and fix the issue myself. A little of the old snip, snip and bob’s your -”

He is interrupted as a file is slapped onto Chloe’s desk. They both turn to see Dan with his glance turned down the hallway towards the interrogation room.

“We just picked up the lead suspect in the Johnson case,” he says.

Chloe nods, reaching for the file. “Okay.”

“As usual, entirely atrocious timing, Daniel. We were in the middle of a conversation,” Lucifer says, offended.

Dan looks at Lucifer, ready to snap back when his eyes turn to see Chloe staring at him. Even if he weren’t intimately familiar with the stare on her face, he could read her expression. He sighs, then allows a small, uneven smile to crook onto his mouth.

“You used my name? No Detective Douche this time? You’re getting soft on me, Lucifer.”

Lucifer huffs. “Let’s just hope your weak grip on social etiquette doesn’t rub off on the urchin,” he says, fiddling with his cuffs.

“Thank You,” Chloe mouths silently. Dan shakes his head and walks away. Chloe turns back to see Lucifer fiddling with his jacket button. He seems uncomfortable in his suit.

“We should be sending him to finishing school,” Lucifer says, his eyes turning up to her, “They have those for adults, right?”

Chloe shakes her head, a small relieved smile on her face at his snark.

It _almost_ felt normal again.

\--

After an interview, and a quick visit to a new crime scene, Chloe sends Lucifer home early while she draws up warrants. 

“There is a special hell for paperwork,” he had said. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t find his complaining comforting. He wasn’t fully himself, but the further the day went on, the more he became the man she knew. The thought of that is nice, so after she’s clocked out for the night, she decides to pay him a visit. When the penthouse elevator doors open, Chloe steps out into a thin fog of smoke. The lights are low and the dim amber glow above the bar is enough to see the hunched silhouette of Lucifer, blocked out against the background of twinkling city lights. A half-smoked cigarette blazes in his hand as he takes a drag. The air is restrictive and muggy, but beneath it, she can feel the chaotic energy, the panic in the room. He mumbles as he exhales more smoke into the air.

“I did what you wanted,” she can hear him saying.

“You took my face, and my eyes and gave me - what am I supposed to do with the bloody things?” 

She crosses over into the living room and that is when he is aware of her presence. His eyes snap to her, large and wide. He stands quickly, smoothing the untamed curls back with the sweat on his forehead. The unbelted slacks around his narrow waist dip just enough to reveal the muscles that carve out a delicious pathway to his groin. She takes note of it briefly as he stands. Then, her eyes crawl up his body to find his hands stained red with what appears to be blood.

Her eyebrows furrow and she steps forward. “Lucifer, oh my God, you’re bleeding?”

“Detective,” he says nervously, “I … I didn’t expect you.”

He leans down and outs the cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table before turning and fixing the cushions on the sofa. He leaves incomplete and bloody handprints on the leather. She reaches out and grabs his hands. There is no wound that could account for the amount of blood she sees.

“Lucifer, what did you do? Where did all this blood come from? Are you hurt?” She stands back and takes note of his body.

“No, I … I tried something and it failed me again. I suppose that’s my fault. It didn’t work the first four times, why would it now?”

She shakes her head, unsure of what he is saying but certain it worries her. She sets a hand on his shoulder, ready to turn him around and see if there is any blood on his back. He instantly twists out of her hands.

“Would you like a seat?” he asks, something strange about him.

She looks around for a moment, taking in the scene and replaying what he was like when she arrived. Then, she cuts her eyes to his bedroom. “Who are you talking to?”

“My father,” he replies. She turns to look into the small hallway behind his bookcase that leads to a kitchen and guest bedrooms. He scurries up the steps to his bedroom behind her and softly closes the bathroom door.

“Oh, your dad is here?” she says, bewildered. That is the last person she had expected him to open up to. Not after all the things he had said about his dad. She turns back to him as he enters his closet.

Lucifer scoffs. “No.” 

“Oh.” She doesn’t know how to take that or how to respond. Her eyes cut to the ashtray filled with cigarette butts. It sits next to an empty decanter of whiskey.

Chloe sighs. “Lucifer, I know I keep asking but … are you sure you’re okay? You just, you seem like you’re going through a lot and I just wish you would talk to me.”

He huffs, amused but more so annoyed. Anything he says would be pointless. She’d just write it off as allegory anyway. He exits his closet, buttoning a dark button-up shirt.

“Why does it matter?” he asks.

“It matters,” she says. “It matters because _you_ matter.”

They stare at each other for too long. The longer it goes, the stranger his stare becomes and the stronger that eerie feeling that crawls up the back of her neck gets. It feels wrong, like the Lucifer she is looking at isn’t the Lucifer she knows. A small voice in the back of her head whispers to her that he is someone, _something_ , different.

She coughs then blinks, the smoke stinging her eyes. “You’re in a funk,” she says walking over to the balcony, hoping to pull some fresh air into the penthouse. She turns the lock on the sliding glass door. “We need to get you out of-“

“No, don’t!” he warns but by then it’s too late. She slides the balcony door open and inhales the relatively fresh Los Angeles air.

“See? Just a little-“

Suddenly, a crow flies into the apartment and perches on a bust in the corner.

“Whoa!” she yelps.

Lucifer sighs. “I had that closed for a reason.”

 _CAW!_ The crow barks at him and he grunts. Then, seeing a window of opportunity, another crow comes flying into his living room and lands on his coffee table, spilling a little of the whiskey he had in a small glass. Chloe yelps again and walks to the other side of the living room, closer to his bedroom.

The crow on the coffee table drops a shiny trinket on it then barks at Lucifer. _CAW!_

He groans. “Yes, I’d want to shag me too but I’m afraid our anatomy doesn’t quite match. So if you could-“

Another crow flies into his apartment and lands on the back of his couch.

“Oh for-“

He turns to Chloe. “This,” he says, waving a hand at the birds, “is why I keep the door closed.”

He sighs and turns back to them, waving his hands around. The crows hop from furniture to furniture as he tries, and mostly fails, to herd them towards the door.

“Alright, out with you lot!” he says.

They bark at him and fly around the penthouse. Chloe ducks into his closet to hide as he wrangles them. When he finally gets the last crow out onto the balcony he shuts the door and sighs. Chloe peeps her head from the steps and he turns to her.

“If you’ve come to upset my evening, Detective, bravo.”

“What the hell was that?” she says.

“It seems I’ve moved past the possible meal into the possible mate phase.”

“I …I have no idea what that even means.”

He groans. “Right, because you don’t believe me.”

She shakes her head as he approaches the bar and pours himself another drink.

“I mean, I get that you believe all this stuff about yourself. That you’re … different,” she says.

“That’s the kind way to put it.” He downs the shot of whiskey sets the top on the decanter. 

“And I ... I can’t pretend to understand that. But I know hurt when I see it,” she says.

Lucifer pauses, a small crack opening again in his armor. She was good at that, finding the cracks.

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. You know that, right?”

He smiles to himself and nods. “I’m not a talker, Detective,” he says, turning to her, “You know there are far better things I’d like to be doing with my mouth.”

She rolls her eyes at his deflection. At least that part of him was the same.

Her cell phone dings and she sighs. She unlocks it and scrolls to her email. “They got a hit on our suspect. He’s at a house party in the hills. You up for a drive? If we go now, we might make it back before midnight.”

He smiles and downs the rest of his drink. “I’ll get my keys.” 

Chloe furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m not riding with you in that death mobile. Plus, you’ve been drinking.”

“Darling,” Lucifer says, “This particular vehicle is a marvel of American engineering. Not a death machine. Not to mention that drive is a two-hour ride. Would you prefer to be stuffed into that box you call a car for two hours?”

She stares at him as if she doesn’t care about American engineering.

“It would be a shame to miss what I imagine might be a lovely drive up the hillside at night,” he continues.

She narrows her eyes.

“The wind in our hair...” he says stepping closer to her, a grin on his face. “... the faint scent of ocean-“ 

She groans and shakes her head. “You’re taking a sobriety test before I let you drive me.”

“I’ll blow on whatever you like, Darling,” he says, that charming smile on his face, the one that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It’s the one time it makes her feel better to have him leer at her.

“And I get to pick the music.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Detective. I accept.”


	3. Murder Chicken

\---

The cool air of the Los Angeles hillside is better, somehow, when it is rushing past Chloe’s face. Lucifer, despite driving like a speed demon, is deft at the wheel and smoothly makes the winding turns and quick corners. The car ride is quiet but comfortable. The radio plays its music loud enough to hear, but soft enough to serve as background noise for their own thoughts.

She thinks about life, about the case, about the strange behavior of her partner. About walking in on him, hunched over, sorrow sitting heavily on his shoulders. About the blood on his hands and the mumbling. It wasn’t him, it was so far away from the man she had come to …to what? Her eyes turn to him. Somehow, even with the wind in his hair, he looks put together and calm. Like even the wind couldn’t alter his persona. She falls back into worry as her glance pulls itself down to see him leaning forward, his back off the seat. The wind hadn’t changed him, no, but something did. She turns her eyes forward and leans her face into the breeze, trying to figure out what he likes about it so much.

Lucifer’s thoughts aren’t as complex. They don’t bounce around from subject to subject like hers. Instead, his thoughts are singular. There is only one thing on his mind, _them,_ his wings. How could he not think about them when, even now, the taut pull of muscles he hadn’t used in years strain against the weight of divinity. It is an ache that reminds him too much of what he has gained and what he has lost.

He replays the memory of standing in the middle of nowhere with the distant sound of sirens in his ears. If he had been anything less than celestial, he would have died and been food for the vultures that hovered above. That idea, the thought that he had somehow been punished and saved at the same time makes him feel so powerless. It is this paradox that haunts him. He was standing in the middle of a desert, faced with a boundless blue sky above and unforgiving desert below. The world had never seemed so large and empty, but it had also never felt so small, and suffocating. So … _caging._

The car begins to sputter, tossing him out of his thoughts with a jolt that immediately has him turn his attention to the dashboard. He manages to pull to the side of the desolate and dark road just as the car stalls and shuts off.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe asks, holding onto the side of the car, having been startled from her own thoughts.

“It seems one of my valets forgot to fill her up before I left.”

Chloe relaxes her shoulders in disbelief. “We’re out of gas?”

“It appears so,” he says, turning the key and sliding it from its spot. He pops open the door and steps out.

“Wha … but we’re in the middle of nowhere!”

“It would appear so.” Lucifer calmly walks back to his trunk.

“Where even is the closest gas station?” she asks.

Lucifer looks around and pauses. He looks ahead of them, then behind him. “I believe there was one about two miles that way.”

She groans, “Two miles!?” She shakes her head and pulls out her phone. “I’m going to call Dan.”

Lucifer doesn’t respond and instead pulls a gas canister out of his trunk.

Chloe dials Dan’s number only to receive a call dropped message. She looks at the bars on her phone and sighs. “Great. No service.”

“And to imagine I was going to stop at that gas station for a drink,” he says. “All this fresh air has got me parched.”

“And you didn’t?” she asks, annoyed.

He nods. “It seems I got a little distracted,” he says, still distracted as he turns his eyes to the night sky.

She sighs, noticing the softness of his stare, and nods. “Fine,” she says, reluctantly. “Lets … start walking. We’re not going to get gas by standing here.”

She drops the file in the trunk of the car, and he slams it shut. She begins walking down the road. He jogs to catch up to her then locks into her stride. His legs are considerably longer than hers, but he matches her pace anyway. He takes small, Detective-sized steps before pressing the key fob to lock his car.

She chuckles. “It’s a convertible, how’s that going to help?” 

He shrugs. “Force of habit, I’m afraid.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes before her eyes turn up towards the stars. Out here, without the interference of city lights, the sky is clear. She crosses her arms and watches them as she walks. The stars sparkle and the moon casts a dull blue light on the road in front of them.

She crosses her arms, a small smile forming on her face. “I had forgotten how beautiful they were.”

He turns to see her staring at the stars. His eyes turn to the sky and he watches for a moment, trying to view them through her eyes, but seeing them is like seeing an unfinished painting. It’s a reminder of all that he could have done, but was unable to. He sighs and turns his eyes forward. “I’ve seen far more beautiful things. But I will admit. I did do a _smashing_ job.”

She smiles and shakes her head. His insistence on calling himself the devil is far less annoying these days and much more comforting. It meant he was getting back to normal, back to who he used to be, before …

She shuts her eyes as she walks trying not to let the sadness swell inside of her. Despite Lucifer being right there, she still feels like she lost a friend. Sure, he was cryptic about his life and there were many things she knew that he was hiding from her, but he was trustworthy and honest – even when it’s clear he avoids certain topics. He was cryptic, but never distant. Not like now.

And to think, he was going to tell her everything before this happened. She hadn’t realized how important that had been to her until now. They continue walking in silence. It takes a few moments for her to build the courage, but eventually she does. She clears her throat as she walks, nerves causing her to fiddle with her fingers.

“I uhm,” she begins, already second-guessing her choice of topic. “I was wondering if you wanted to talk to me. You know, about that thing you were going to talk to me about the night you were …well _that_ night.”

He nods, remembering. “Oh, yes, I ... I was going to tell you everything.”

“Yeah, I-I remember you said that. Everything … like what?”

“About me, about … us.”

“Okay,” she says, hope bleeding more into her words than she would have elected.

“But things have changed, Detective,” he says, waves wrinkling his forehead. “I have changed.”

She scoffs. “Well, at least your indecisiveness remains stable.”

He doesn’t respond to that with words or a smile. Instead, he looks straight forward. She sees the distant look in his eyes as he walks.

She sighs and relaxes her shoulders. “What I said was true,” she says, “I … I might not understand or believe you but, I will listen if you want to talk.”

He turns to her, a brief moment darkness in his eyes that gives her pause. Then it softens and he lets go a timid smile before nodding. He turns forward and once again it is silent. The scraping of their shoes on asphalt and the gentle singing of nearby crickets fills their ears. It is a few moments before he opens his mouth again.

“It started simply as a protest,” he says, feeling her out. Telling her a secret. When she doesn’t respond, he continues.

“I asked why we couldn’t have freedom as the humans do and the response was … well, _lacking_. All I ever wanted to do was have a choice. The ability to decide how my life would look, the kind of man I would become. Freedom. Independence.”

She watches him, but he doesn’t turn to her. He continues to look forward.

“It’s why I cut the bloody things off to begin with,” he says.

“Cut what off?”

He is silent for a few seconds before he turns to her, his eyes dropping down her frame as if assessing her. He knows she won’t believe him, but he had always told her the truth.

“My wings,” he says.

He observes her, waiting for her to roll her eyes or scoff. Instead, she stays true to her word and nods, still listening. He tilts his head at her, pleased to find her at least pretending to be receptive. He turns back in front of him and continues to walk.

“After the rebellion, I was cast out. Thrown into the underworld and left to fend for myself. I had to watch mortals punish themselves for eons. Had to have my name dragged through the mud, had to be blamed for every horrible thing humanity did for Dad. And after an eternity of being public enemy number one, I … “ His shoulders drop in resignation. He wilts.

“I was tired,” he says softly.

Chloe, true to her word, silently listens. She turns to him, able to sense it even now, his exhaustion. It’s not a physical one, no, he has hardly begun to huff since they started walking. Meanwhile, her calves are starting to burn. No, this exhaustion is an emotional one. The kind one has after bearing the weight of the world for too long. She reaches out to him and locks her arm around his elbow, leaning onto his shoulder as they walk. He doesn’t flinch this time, which she supposes is a step forward. Instead, he turns his gaze to her, studying her for a moment before a small smile falls onto his face.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me? That you were tired?”

He nods and turns his eyes back to the road in front of him.

“When I came to earth,” he continues, after several moments, “it was meant to be a message to Father. One grand gesture to make clear my boundaries. That I would not sit idly by and be a good little angel for him. Do as he asks without question or criticism. Then, I met you, and … well the rest is history as they say.”

She smiles and hesitation seeps into his muscles. She can feel him tense a little.

“Then I … I wanted to show you, _truly_ show you who I am. I wanted to … I- I wanted to give you the opportunity to …”

“To what?”

He sighs. “To choose me. _Truly_ choose me,” he says turning his head to her. “I wanted to show you _everything_. To give you the opportunity to be charmed by me as I am by you.”

She pauses in her tracks, gravel shifting beneath the force of her sudden halt. He stops too, considering her hands are still wrapped around his arm.

“What?”

“You deserve complete honesty, Detective. I- I was afraid of what you might say, that you might run so I _willingly_ allowed there to be a grey area. A blind spot. But I recently realized that it is unfair to not give you the opportunity to decide for yourself. A choice. To leave you in the dark for my own benefit.”

“You’re _charmed_ by me?” she repeats, stuck on that particular aspect of his confession. What the hell does _that_ mean?

He nods, a timid smile coming to his face. “Don’t get me wrong, you are frustrating and tenacious and woefully celibate-”

She playfully smacks him and his smile widens. For a second there is an unmistakable glimmer in Lucifer’s eyes, _her_ Lucifer. It is intoxicating.

“I often find myself irked by your disinterest in anything related to sex with me. But … I also find you remarkably fascinating. I’ve never been more bewitched with a single being in my life. Well, besides myself, of course,” he says, cheekily.

She looks at him, unsure of what to say to that. _Bewitched?_ So, is he saying he likes her? Romantically?

“I was put off at first by the fact that you are a miracle. Put here by my father for reasons I’ve yet to decipher. Which, of course, makes sense as to why you are so completely immune to my charms. But … but now I find that immunity to be the very thing that makes me care for you above all others.”

She stares at him, trying to process the fact that this is real. Is he truly admitting that he has feelings for her?

“I find it … comforting,” he admits, “to have someone who sees me and not the desire, or the wings, or the devil face.”

She smiles at him. “I told you, no matter what you think about yourself, to me you’re just Lucifer. You’re my partner. My … friend.”

He smiles, but it’s a tense smile. “And this is why you are so special.” There is incredible sadness behind his eyes. He turns his eyes forward and sighs, “... But I have changed.”

She furrows her eyebrows and lets his arm go. “You changed your mind?” she asks, familiar with the waning tides of his emotion.

He shakes his head. “I was made to see what I am. I have spent so much time here, attempting to create something for myself that I had forgotten that I am not like you. I am not human. I - I will never have what you have.”

“Don’t say that,” she says. “You have every right to be-”

“I wanted so badly to be free that I ...I made myself believe I could be. That I could have free will as you do. But that was before I was changed. Accosted … _forced_ ,” he says, his anger blooming with each new word.

She approaches him, standing in front of him so he can’t look away. “Lucifer, what happened to you?” she asks directly, uninterested in the stories or the allegories. She needed the truth.

He stares at her, grief and anger behind his eyes. “He put them back.” 

She shakes her head, not understanding. “Put what back?”

“My wings.”

She stares at him, the concern falling into something else. Hurt.

“I will not be mocked, Detective, and if Father thinks he is going to get away with playing mind games then he has no idea who-!”

“Stop!”

He stills, stunned by her outburst.

“Enough! I thought something _really_ bad had happened to you. Something horrible and … I get that you work in metaphors but now is not the time for that. This is the time to be serious.”

“I _am_ being serious,” he says, offended.

“Something bad happened to you, Lucifer.”

“I know,” he says, “and I’ve tried to cut them off five times now.”

She scoffs and shakes her head. “I’m … just, never mind,” she huffs, crossing her arms and walking ahead of him.

“Detective!”

“Let’s just get the gas,” she says without turning around, the hurt in her voice so obvious the night seems to darken around her.

They spend the next half hour walking in silence beneath the stars. Chloe walks a few feet ahead, while Lucifer trails behind her, in his own mind.

When she sees the light from the gas station in the distance, she sighs in relief. “Oh, thank _God_ , I have to pee,” she says.

Lucifer huffs and mumbles under his breath. Thank Dad? For what? There was nothing he did that should end in a thank you.

She picks up her speed, energy injected back into her walking. When they reach the station, Lucifer immediately goes up to the gas pump and swipes his card. Chloe enters the convenience store, a bell above the door announcing her entry.

“Hey,” she says breathily as she enters, “can I use your bathroom?”

The cashier looks up from his phone to her then points to a sign by the register.

_Bathroom for customers only._

She groans and nods, “Fine.” She turns to the rack in front of her, her eyes darting over the packages, before grabbing a bag of roasted peanuts and slamming them on the counter.

“I’ll take these.”

Outside Lucifer is pumping premium gasoline into a small red gas container. His mind is elsewhere but his eyes are focused on the container slowly filling up. The bell above the door to the convenience store dings and his eyes track to see Chloe walk outside holding a key attached to a license plate. He watches her walk to the side of the building then open the door to a restroom.

He takes a deep breath and exhales before turning his eyes back to the gas can. At the pump next to him, a small orange pickup pulls up. He looks, then again turns his eyes back to the pump. He lifts his arm and looks at the shining Rolex on his wrist. If they walk fast they might make it back to his car with enough time to get her home to the urchin. 

_Click._

Lucifer turns to see the man at the pump beside him holding a cocked and concealed gun carefully at his side. He looks around, making sure no one can see him. Lucifer stares at him, unimpressed.

“Give me your watch.”

“Pardon?” he asks, taking his time to set the nozzle back on the pump.

“And your wallet. You look like you can take the hit.”

“I most certainly can,” he says, unbuttoning his jacket, not at all amused by this.

The robber points the gun at Lucifer. “Don’t try and be a hero unless you want to end up with a bullet in the chest.”

“Is this how you make your-” He pauses. The Detective was close by, which meant he could be hurt. It meant he could … _die_. He narrows his eyes. Dad probably wouldn’t like that. It would go against whatever he has planned for Lucifer, against why he put those _things_ on his back.

“Well,” he huffs, pleased that he found a way around the old man. If he couldn’t get rid of the wings, he would get rid of it all. Toss the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak. “If that is what you desire, then who am I to stand in your way?”

“That’s right, hand it over,” the man says as Lucifer moves to undo his Rolex. 

The watch falls off his wrist and he holds it up like a prize. The man reaches out with his free hand to grab it and Lucifer holds it away.

“Ah ah, how about we sweeten the deal?”

The robber juts the gun out as he steps forward, placing it to Lucifer’s chest. “I said no funny business.”

“Go on,” Lucifer says, “I’ll give you the watch and enough money to buy more of those horrendous orange trucks if you pull the trigger.”

“What?”

“Come on,” Lucifer says, grabbing the end of the gun and moving it so it sits right above his heart. “Pull the trigger.”

The man moves to pull the gun away from Lucifer, but Lucifer holds it strong there. “Come on! If it makes you feel any better you can pretend it’s a breast, yeah? Give it a good squeeze!”

“Hey man, I don’t want to kill you,” the robber says, panic brewing in his eyes as he tries to pull away.

“Freeze! LAPD,” they hear, and both turn to see Chloe with her gun out.

“Oh, bloody-“ Lucifer grunts, turning back to the man. “Go on then, before she ruins the mood.”

The robber, now nervous as hell, shakes his head. He lets go of the gun and tries to pull his hand away, but Lucifer snaps out his other hand – dropping the Rolex on the ground – and locks the man’s fingers around the gun.

“No!” the man cries, feeling his trigger finger squeezed beneath Lucifer's grip. “I was just fucking with you man! I’m not going to kill you! I- just let me go!”

“Go on! This is what you wanted, right? What you desired?”

The man shakes his head frantically. “I just wanted your watch!”

“Lucifer!” Chloe yells.

Lucifer grunts and lets the man go. The gun clangs to the ground as the robber grips his bruised hand in his lap.

“On the ground,” Chloe says, stepping forward, her gun trained on him. The robber obeys and slowly kneels, his hand throbbing. Chloe kicks the gun away before turning to verify that Lucifer is okay. Their eyes meet and he sees it, he knows he crossed a line. 

“What the hell?” she asks.

His mouth moves, but no words come out. He chokes, his eyes starting to water. The anger in her face fades and she turns to the man on the ground as he cradles his hand in his lap.

“I think it's broken,” he cries. She sighs and turns back to Lucifer. He paces the parking lot, his hand ruffling through his hair.

\--

They wait until an ambulance and a police cruiser show up to the scene. Lucifer stands on the side of the building as Chloe gives her statement to the officer. She flips her eyes between the officer and Lucifer, watching him with a mixture of anger and worry.

Lucifer is lost in his thoughts again, not even concerned about his ruffled hair. All he can think about is how there’s no way out of this. He had withstood the pain of his wings regrowing every night in the hope that eventually, his father would give up and leave him to his scars. But each night, he cuts them off and each night, he suffers through the pain of their restoration. The wings are his prison and he is the prisoner.

“I’m so _thoroughly_ pissed at you.” He looks up to see Chloe walking to him, her arms crossed. “I mean, what were you thinking?” she asks.

He opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off.

“You _weren’t_ thinking,” she says. “Right, because you don’t think about anyone but yourself.”

She reaches out and pushes him and he slams into the wall. This time, he doesn’t move away from it. Instead, he focuses on the very angry woman pointing a finger at him. 

“I’m done babying you. I’m done stepping around your issues like you just need time to come to your senses because _clearly,_ you aren’t thinking. I mean … were you trying to get yourself killed? Or were you playing some sort of weird murder chicken with a gun-toting robber? I mean, what would you have done if I weren’t here?”

He opens his mouth to speak but she cuts him off again.

“What is _wrong_ with you? Honestly? How do you think I would have felt if I came out here and saw you dead on the ground? No, right, we already covered this, you _don’t_ think. You’re completely irrational and short-sighted and this entire time I’ve been trying to help you with whatever happened by being there but it's clear you just … you don’t care! It’s all about you, right? All about your desires. Well, you know what I desire? My partner back.”

“Detective-”

“So you’re done. I’m putting in your official leave when I get back to the station and you aren’t coming back until you sort your shit out.”

He waits, wondering if this is the end of her verbal diarrhea. When she stares at him as if expecting an answer, he nods.

“Right, yes. I … I realize that must have been upsetting but I assure you-”

“I don’t want your assurances!” she screams. “I – I-“

She sighs, exhausted, and pulls her hand up to her head to fight off the headache. Her voice lowers and she shakes her head at the mess she has somehow gotten herself into by not forcing Lucifer to talk to Linda earlier. Linda had just come off of a life changing experience herself, but she knows Lucifer more than anyone. She could talk some sense into him. 

“I just … I want the truth. You said it yourself, I _deserve_ the truth, Lucifer.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Always.”

“Then what is it? What is going on? What happened? What is so bad that you looked at a man with a gun and told him to shoot?”

He bites down hard and swallows his spit. “I told you, Detective. I’ve been telling you. My answer will not change.”

She huffs and shakes her head before worrying her lip, fighting back tears. “I … I’m trying to not cry, Lucifer. But you keep – you keep making me feel …”

“You guys need a ride?” They both turn to see a uniformed officer, his eyebrows raised in wait for a reply.

Chloe turns back to him, her eyes low and glistening. She cautiously rolls her eyes up to him, watching him with a softness that he knows he should respond to. He opens his mouth, unsure of what he should say.

“Chloe-“ he pleads.

“I’m going to get a ride back,” she says. “It’s getting late. Don’t come in tomorrow.”

She turns before he can say anything more, her arms wrapped around herself. He watches her walk away and sighs.

She approaches the police cruiser and the officer smiles at her. “Just you?” he asks, his eyes moving past her to Lucifer. Lucifer approaches the gas pump and reaches down to grab the gas container.

“Just me,” she replies as she pops open the passenger side door and gets in. Moments later, the car pulls out of the parking lot. Her eyes turn to the side mirror as the car pulls away. She sees Lucifer, or the man that looks a lot like him, standing in the parking lot. He watches the brake lights of the car get farther and farther away. 

He looks just as she feels, lost.


	4. Owls

\---

There is no wind inside of the police cruiser, just the steady chirp of the radio and the boring drone of an officer excited to have a non-criminal passenger for once. He is talking about something, but Chloe isn’t really paying attention. Instead, she is watching the clear sky grow hazy with light pollution as they wind down closer and closer to the city. She sighs. It mirrors the confusion she has building in her chest between being angry and being lost.

It’s only been about ten minutes since they left Lucifer, and maybe she shouldn’t have left him considering he had _just_ attempted to get himself shot. But it’s a hard hurt to get over, the idea that he won’t tell her what is _really_ wrong. That he would rather hurt himself than tell her the truth. Maybe he doesn’t trust her? Maybe he doesn’t believe he can tell her? She’s stuck around despite his insistence on calling himself the devil, what makes him think she won’t listen to him now? She sighs and rolls her eyes as she reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone.

She was mad at him, but that didn’t mean she needed to turn a blind eye. She needed to get him to talk to Linda. She scrolls through her phone for Linda’s number. The attention on something other than the thoughts in her mind allows her to finally hear the words being said to her.

“So we took him to the hospital and got him sewn up,” the officer says with a chuckle. “And you know what? He didn’t cry once.”

She pauses and turns to him. “Huh? Sewn up?”

The officer looks at her for a moment then turns back to the road. “My son? I told you he fell and cut open his leg while skateboarding?”

“Oh, _oh_ ,” she says nodding. “Yeah. Right. Well, I’m glad he’s okay. My daughter isn’t as dangerous but I know the panic when a child gets hurt.”

She continues to flip through her contacts before pulling up a text conversation and typing her message to Linda.

“Yeah, but luckily he’s been a trooper about the whole thing,” the officer says. “He keeps saying he’s going to have a cool scar and story to tell.”

Chloe pauses. A cool Scar.

 _Scars._ An eerie stillness hits her and her thoughts freeze seconds before she begins to spiral, neurons firing in her brain and connecting clues she had stuffed away somewhere deep.

The officer laughs. “Boys, right?”

She holds onto the door, the world shifting her and her brain fuzzy as memories and images flash before her eyes. Memories of their first meeting. _I’m immortal_ , he had said.

 _I never understood the human desire to procreate_.

Then, the image of his face when she shot him. _I’m bleeding_ , he said, confusion in his tone. 

_I don’t bleed, it’s-_

He collapsed to the floor, a strange confusion and fear behind his eyes. _What does this mean?_ He had looked at her as if she had the answer, but she was too busy panicking to respond with anything thoughtful. She replays that look in her head. 

_What is happening to me?_ he asked.

Then, images of the first time she saw them, his scars. The large crescents on his back.

 _Oh, that’s where I cut them off,_ he had said about them.

_Cut what off?_

_My wings._

Then, earlier that evening in the penthouse, there was blood on his hands and an unsettling feeling like something wrong happened there. _I don’t know why I thought this time would be different_ , he had said. He had that look in his eyes, the one that reminded her of his stare at the hospital.

The hospital. She recalls him turning around to prove he is fine. His back is smooth and freckled, _scarless_.

 _I want to go home_.

_You’ve done more for me than most humans would._

She imagines him alone on a dirt road. _I’ve been … changed_.

Her eyes widen and she gasps. “Wings.”

“Huh?” the officer says.

It hits her like a punch to the stomach and she falls face first into a lake of understanding. “Lucifer,” she says, concise, succinct and with a heavy blow of knowledge behind it. She isn’t saying his name like she normally does, she is stating it like a fact; like a name in a case.

“Oh my … oh my God!” She brings her hands to her head.

“You okay?” the officer asks.

Her mind goes into overdrive, trying to make sense of it all, but there was no explaining this away. Flash after flash of every moment of their partnership floods into her memory. They had all been silly quirks and passing metaphors. But looking back at them, if she had taken it at face value that Lucifer never lies, she would have realized the answer she had wanted all this time had always been there. It is the last piece of a puzzle that finally reveals the entire picture. If this were true, if what he says is true then … Lucifer had wings. He was an angel, which meant he had been the devil all along.

She blinks, letting it run through her mind how direct he had been. She had thought he had some childhood trauma he needed to work through, and in some sense, she supposes she was right. But this was more than trauma, this was biblical.

Lucifer _was_ the devil.

“It’s true,” she says breathily, awe and disbelief behind her words.

Suddenly her partner, the man she had trusted with her life, made sense. She had been angry, worried even, that he wouldn’t open up to her. She had thought maybe he never would.

He couldn’t lie, but maybe he wouldn’t ever truly be honest with her. But now, in the hazy light of the approaching city, she realizes he had only ever been honest with her. And accepting what he had told her as truth, past the obvious mindfuck, made her feel a strange closeness to him. The devil. Believing him, _actually_ believing him, unleashes a new understanding of Lucifer, her partner. One that felt real and freeing and … lonely.

She had left him alone. He had told her the truth, the painful truth. That he had been changed and for that, for his unerring honesty, she had left him alone.

\--

Even with the grating of Italian soles against rocky asphalt and the steady singing of nearby cicadas, Lucifer is lost inside his mind. Their singing is loud, but it is just silent enough for him to fall into his thoughts. He was used to being abandoned, forsaken and thrown away, but somehow this time feels worse. It feels like when he fell, when the only world he had known had been ripped out from under him like a tablecloth beneath wine glasses. It didn’t make it any better that he knows what this feeling is, but at least … at least he had a history with it. He supposes that comfort, however empty it might be, is better than none at all. He had a history of disappointment and heartbreak. He supposes this too shall pass.

A headlight comes over the hill behind him and he doesn’t turn. The closer it gets, the more he moves to the side of the road for it to drive by. Except the car doesn’t pass. As the police cruiser pulls up next to Lucifer, he turns to see Chloe rolling the window down.

“Get in,” she says. “Mike will drive us to your car.”

Lucifer stops walking and leans down to see Officer Mike waving at him. Lucifer offers a tense smile before sighing.

“I think … I think walking might do me some good, but thank you. Truly. You- you go on without me. You should get some rest.”

He offers her another small smile before walking forward, away from the car. She rolls her eyes and pops open the door. He turns as she steps out and slams the door behind her. She leans down and peaks through the open window.

“Thanks, Mike,” she says, before tapping the roof of the car. Mike flips the car into drive before slowly pulling off and making a U-turn.

Lucifer tilts his head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m … I’m walking back to the car with you?” 

“Why?” 

She doesn’t say anything, she just crosses her arms and looks at her feet. “I don’t know …” she says. “I- guess I realize it was wrong of me to leave you alone.”

He stares at her, not buying it.

She sighs and drops her shoulders, “and I …I’m trained to go towards danger instead of away from it.”

He huffs and turns, continuing to walk down the street. “Hardly any danger here, Detective. Unless you can count the damage I am doing to these once-lovely Rossi shoes.”

She squints her eyes. He doesn’t look like the Devil.

When he doesn’t hear her footsteps he stops and turns to see her still standing where she was before. “Well come on then,” he says, annoyed. “Can’t very well leave you out here for the deer and owls.”

“Owls?” she says, confused. 

He turns and continues walking. She slowly begins to follow him. They walk in silence for a few moments, Chloe staying a few feet behind him.

“I … really didn’t think this through.”

“I believe that’s my line. I’m impulsive and short-sighted, remember?”

“Yeah. Well, we make a good team then. I just stranded myself on an empty road at night with the devil.”

That makes Lucifer scoff, a slight air of amusement in it. Then they are silent again, for a long time. The sound of her footsteps behind him slowly grows more comfortable. Even if they aren’t speaking, her presence softens him until he walks beneath the stars casually. 

“Did you uhm … really make them?” she asks, eventually.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The stars. Did you make them? I -I vaguely remember you talking about them as if you made them.”

He pauses and turns around. She stops in her tracks. He stares at her, his eyes narrowing. Without the sound of their feet on pavement, the road is much more quiet than she would like. He stares at her, the silence between them stretching out longer than it should. She watches him, that eerie feeling hovering over her again.

“You believe me?” he asks, surprise – and an odd amount of hope – behind his words.

She nods, crossing her arms. “I …I may be considering that you aren’t speaking in allegory.”

He looks her over, checking the energy she puts off. 

“I mean I- I don’t believe, per say. I mean angels and God and the devil? It all seems … I just...”

“You have questions.”

She nods. “A few.“

“Ever the Detective,” he huffs, a reverent smile on his face.

“So?” she asks. “You- you _made_ the stars?” 

He nods. “In a sense. I helped. I …willed them to be.”

“Did you make anything else?” she asks.

He chuckles. “Maybe a few poor decisions and a lot of happy men and women. But … no, not like that.”

“Mm,” she hums, nodding to herself. 

He turns his eyes up to the stars, looking at them in a way he hasn’t for eons. 

“I suppose … if I hadn’t fallen ...maybe I could have made more. I could have made it so much more beautiful.”

He turns his eyes down to her. She stares at him, questions visible behind her eyes. He turns and continues to walk, the red canister held steady in his grip. She follows him, a little closer this time.

“So, are you the bad guy?” she asks him eventually.

“Depends on which school of religious thought you are a part of. Most would say yes.”

“What do you think?” she asks.

He turns his head partly to her as if making sure she is still following him. “I might ask you the same question.”

She thinks about it for a second as they walk, her eyes briefly trailing to the stars. “I suppose if I had to put together a profile on you …”

He chuckles. “Of course, treating the devil like a case.”

“I would say based on what I know and have experienced that you are … troubled. Troubled, but not bad.”

He grunts as he walks. “I get called trouble too.”

“You are selfish and short-sighted and _exceptionally_ narcissistic,” she says.

“You’re starting to sound like Dr. Martin,” he mumbles.

“But … I suppose that makes sense. You know, with the whole getting kicked out of heaven bit,” she says, the weight of what she is saying not quite sinking in. It feels like she has just joined him in speaking in allegory.

Lucifer turns his head partially, catching her in his peripheral vision. “You are taking this quite well.”

“It just … and no offense but … it doesn't feel real. I mean, if I believe what you say is true then … then everything changes.” 

“Yes,” he says sadly, knowing exactly what would change. She would run from him, call him a monster. At the very least he wouldn’t speak to her for a week like when he told Dr. Linda, or rather _showed_ her. He briefly wonders if Chloe might do the same thing, _run_. He can’t go that long without her. He can, to be fair, but … he doesn't want to.

They continue walking, her mind a hotbed of questions she has always wanted answered about him. She asks him questions like, whether or not he eats babies or enjoys sacrificing virgins. He answers them all patiently and takes all of her questions in stride. He doesn’t make a single snide remark in her direction. Perhaps towards himself, as the self-deprecation makes it easier the more he exposes, but never towards her. She seems to take joy in it, in learning more about him. In filling in the holes of her knowledge about all things Lucifer. In _everything_ . Her reservation and doubt gives way to intrigue and fascination. Not so much with the allegory, but with the man behind it. Even if Lucifer isn’t _the_ Lucifer, he is someone who cares about the stories enough that she begins to care about them too. So much so, that the allegories don’t feel like stories anymore, they feel real. With each question, the distance between them closes until she is standing side by side with him, asking him why people think he has horns. 

Suddenly, she stops walking and her face scrunches up. “Wait. Why do we have to walk?” she asks, “You have wings now, right? Couldn’t you just have flown to get gas in the first place?”

He stops walking and she can sense him thinking, but not in a good way. “They are not my choice,” he says. “They were given without my permission. Forced upon me against my will and I will _not_ use them.”

She shakes her head. “But they are part of you. Why not use them if you have them? If I had wings, I’d-”

The gas can drops to the ground. “Because that is what _he_ wants!” he screams, pointing at the sky. 

His anger catches her off guard.

Chloe turns her eyes to the stars. Suddenly all the problems Lucifer complains about with his father hit her. She had been so preoccupied with asking stupid questions she hadn’t even stopped to truly think about the thing that had gotten them here in the first place. About him waking in the desert, _altered._ His anger, his sadness, his sudden abhorrence of touch. To her, it had all been the wild stories of an eccentric, but kind, man. To him, he had been abandoned, mistreated, and scarred. Even if the devil weren’t real, Lucifer’s pain _is_.

“He would like that, wouldn’t he?” Lucifer continues, “for me to be a good little obedient boy and use _his_ wings for good deeds. But I am not a pawn, Detective! They are not _gifts_ to be used as I would desire them. They are a mark upon my back!”

Chloe stares at him as he yells at her. She knows it isn’t at her, and he knows it isn’t at her.

It’s at _him_. She nods. “I get it,” she says, used to his outburst by now. “You were changed.”

He shakes his head, the anger fading a little. “They are not just wings, Detective, they are an agreement. To do as he wants without question. As if his desires are the only desires that matter. His needs above all else. His wants above all else. And my wants, and my desires … to him they mean nothing.”

He turns and picks up the gas canister before walking forward.

She clears her throat. “And what _do_ you want?” 

He is silent before he turns his head to her. He regards her for a long time, as if he has never been asked that question.

“I just … I want _choice_ , Detective. _True_ choice. Not the illusion of it, or a consolation.”

She nods, their entire partnership flying past her mind. It comes with a wave of understanding about his peculiarities. About the things he had told her and the things he had done. About a man who does what he wants, when he wants, with little regard for others. Someone so in need of free will that he grasps at it any chance he gets, despite it doing nothing to make him feel any more free. Like a man dying of thirst while wading in a river.

She remembers the scars on his back and the look in his eyes when she tried to touch them. It was one of the only times when he dropped his attempt to sleep with her and scurried away like an injured animal. He had willingly destroyed a part of himself for the chance to be free. And now they were gone, which meant that the thing he had cut off was back. It must be painful to then suddenly be made whole again, captive; a servant. 

Her eyes begin to water more, not out of fear but out of empathy. “I’m …I’m so sorry,” she says.

He stops and turns to look at her oddly, as if he had never seen anyone cry for him, _over_ him. It makes him feel strange. “Detective, it’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to insinuate-“

“No,” she says, shaking her head,” I know, I just …it seems unfair.”

He nods. “That is precisely the sentiment that got me cast down.”

She tilts forward to him, wrapping her arms around his frame. He exhales on impact, not expecting the closeness. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats. 

He pauses for a moment, unsure. He squirms slightly into her touch, uncomfortable, but she is too far into her pity for him that she doesn’t recognize it. He grimaces, twisting his torso as he attempts to slither from her grasp. 

“Detective,” he says, the discomfort audible in his voice.

“What a jerk!” she grunts into his jacket.

“Yes, right, but I-”

“If I ever meet your dad I’m going to … well, I’m going to …” She doesn't finish her sentence, not sure _what_ she would say to God. She knows it wouldn’t be kind though and oddly, so does he. He sits on that thought, that she would defend him. And to God no less! Slowly, his muscles relax into her touch. He stands there awkwardly before he lowers the gas can. Cautiously, he wraps his arms around her. She leans into his embrace as he pulls her in close.

He breathes in the scent of her hair and sighs, his body relaxing more. His fingers spread wide across her back. They stand there in silence for a few moments before a small, soft smile comes to his face. “I … my fall might be more gruesome than I am inclined to remember. Truth be told, I _might_ have said a _few_ more things.”

She pulls her head away from him. “It’s so stupid! And unfair!” she exclaims, now angry for him. “I couldn’t imagine throwing Trixie away after a disagreement, no matter how big.”

He smiles at her outrage. “I believe the phrase I am looking for is ‘preaching to the choir.’” 

“I would want her to be whatever she wanted. I would want her to be happy!”

He turns to grab the gas can and begins walking again. “It’s all water under the bridge now, Detective. Once I figure out how to get rid of the bloody things all will return to normal. Or rather, as normal as it can be now that you believe me. I imagine there will be many more biblical questions in the future, yes?”

He walks a few feet before pausing and turning to see her still standing where he left her.

“Detective?” he asks.

“Can I see them? Your … _the_ wings?”

His jaw tenses and his stomach churns at the idea, at the _thought_ of letting her see them. Of letting them be known by her.

“I just … you know, it all still seems unreal to me and if you’re going to get rid of them anyway ... If I see them, then I can’t-” she says, stepping towards him.

“I’d much rather streak nude through the Vatican than get those monstrosities out,” he says flatly, an air of distaste in his words.

“That’s not fair,” she says, with a small smile. “You would _enjoy_ streaking through the Vatican.”

“So you’d want me to do something I won’t enjoy?” he asks, the hatred coming out in his tone.

She shakes her head. She isn’t offended by his tone; she knows it isn’t aimed at her. “I want you to do something that scares you.”

He guffaws. “What makes you think I’m afraid of them?”

“It’s not the wings that scare you,” she says, shaking her head. “It's how they make you feel.”

He scoffs and turns, heading down the road. ”I will not.”

She steps forward. “Lucifer, our entire partnership you’ve kept yourself at arm’s length. And - and … I’ve allowed myself to be vulnerable around you, to let you in. And you said you could be vulnerable around me too, but you’ve always kept me out.”

He continues to walk down the road.

“I just want in!” she screams.

He stops dead in his tracks.

“I just want in.” She takes a tentative step towards him. She has his attention, that she can feel.

He shakes his head and turns around. “There are other ways,” he says, his eyes pleading. They beg for something, _anything_ else.

“You’re the devil,” she responds, “The actual, living, breathing devil. I mean, how am I supposed to take that? That my partner is the _actual_ devil? That the devil has eaten with me, and worked with me. That he knows where I live. I mean, you’ve met my kid!”

“I would _never_ hurt you,” he says with urgency in his eyes, as if he wanted – or needed – her to believe him.

“I know that but … how do I _know_ that?”

He pauses, his eyes flipping between hers. They stare each other down and he slowly raises his head, figuring it out. “You’re a detective,” he says. “You’ve just discovered your partner is, in fact, the devil. You’re … confused and-”

“I’m not confused!” 

“But you need all the facts,” he continues. “You’ve asked all your questions and drawn your theories but you still lack one key thing. _Evidence._ You’re a skeptic by nature. You need it before you can make your judgment. Before you can decide whether to be afraid or angry or … run.”

She shakes her head and steps forward. “I just … this is it. Our chance. An opportunity to _truly_ know you, to understand who you are. I just want that opportunity. To be a part of your inner circle.”

He grunts, amused. “Detective… you _are_ my inner circle.”

“Then let me see. _Please_.”

He takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes. He steels himself before opening his eyes and watching her, a strange disconnect behind his gaze. Without the twinkle, he again looks much older than he seems. Then she feels that eerie feeling again, that odd moment she isn’t sure quite qualifies as _deja vu_ . Finally, she is able to pinpoint what exactly this feeling is. It is the feeling of being in the presence of something _other_. The being in front of her is present but timeless. Yes, this new Lucifer is different. 

“Fine,” he says. “If this is what you require then … so be it.”


	5. Wings!

Lucifer takes such great care to unbutton and slowly slide his arms out of the sleeves of his jacket, that it feels like stalling. Standing on the side of a lone and dark road, he carefully folds it before jutting it out to Chloe. She eyes the jacket, a question on her mind, before reluctantly taking it from him.

“Well, I’m not putting Prada on the ground, Detective.”

Right, because the devil does indeed wear Prada. She’s standing on the side of the road with the devil.  _ Alone _ . She snorts, trying to hold back a bevy of emotions that scream at her to run and cry and yell, in no particular order. If she left now, she could pretend this conversation never happened. She could hold onto the single seed of doubt left within her, and never have to be privy to whatever is about to happen. The truth, or the hurt, in Lucifer’s story.

He just watches her as if waiting for a vase to break. He repeats the motions with his shirt before handing it to her. She drapes the warm cloth over the jacket on her shoulder and a gust of warm cologne wafts across her nose. She doesn’t know what this new world means, but that scent is familiar and strong. Comforting. It holds her together despite feeling like she is seconds from falling apart. Is this a big ask? Is she just encouraging his particular brand of crazy by entertaining his stories? Or is this real? For as much as her brain wants to deny it all, it certainly feels real.

He stands there, shaking his arms and loosening his body, preparing himself. Then, he is still and nothing happens.

She waits and waits; his jaw remains clenched. He closes his eyes, his head down as silence stretches infinitely between them. She waits. Then, there is that hope, that inkling of doubt she had wanted. What if he can’t do it because it isn’t real? Because he is actually sick and needs help.

“Is … everything okay?” 

“Fine,” he huffs. “Just … just give me a moment.”

He stands there, shirtless and silent. She can sense the nervousness coming off of him. He closes his eyes, trying to will himself to pull his wings out.

“You’re really nervous? I’m asking the devil to show me his wings and  _ you’re _ nervous?” 

He scoffs at her. “Detective, a little concentration. Please.”

“Right, sorry, I just ... don’t you have control over them?”

“I do, it’s just …  _ give me _ a moment.”

“Right. I just … I thought since they were part of your body, you-”

“They aren’t mine, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he says, the words slipping angrily from between his teeth. “What part of that aren’t you understanding?”

She shakes her head, not understanding at all. “I’m no expert on angels or anything but I think wings are a defining-”

“They aren't mine!” he yells. “They are Father’s! They belong to him! They are of  _ his  _ world! And  _ his _ doing!”

She shuts up, seeing she needled a sensitive spot.

“Apologies,” he says, his arms shaking as he tries to loosen tension. “I just ... what you’re asking of me, it’s …”

“If it’s that big of a deal, you don’t-”

“I do. I – you’re right. If you don’t get a good look you’ll only ever see me as one thing. A liar. Or worse … a monster.”

She shakes her head. “I … no. Lucifer, I could never-”

“I wouldn’t blame you, Detective.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “Look,” she says, shifting on her feet. “I - I can’t say for sure what will happen. How I’ll react if -  _ when _ you show me. I’m still wrapping my head around all of this and- but … I’m only human, Lucifer.”

“You’re more than that, Detective.”

“I just … I just want to know the truth. All this time I feel like I didn’t truly know you and ... and that was fine. I didn’t like it, but I held onto hope that one day you would open up to me and we’d be closer. Granted, I didn’t know _ this _ was the thing but ... I’m glad I know. I feel … I feel like there are no more secrets.”

“Except for my wings.”

She nods and lets the silence between them give him the chance to say something more. When he doesn’t speak, she sighs. “Look, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I’d like to see them. I’d like to know what has you so … distant lately.”

He stares at her for a very long time, gauging her. “They aren’t mine,” he says sadly, sinking into the Lucifer she remembers from the hospital. When he was distant.

She steps forward, close enough to feel the warmth that radiates off his chest. She pulls a hand up to his forearm and rubs it in soothing circles. “Show me,” she pleads, willing him to look her in the eyes.

“I - I can’t,” he whispers.

She would see him as something he isn’t. As a creature of God instead of as his own man. She knew who he was, or at least she was coming around to the idea, there was no denying that. But this was different. He wishes he had his eyes to show her instead. His wings were divine, made from God, but his eyes … they are fallen,  _ created _ . Something of his own doing, something that was  _ his. _

“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” she quips.

He turns his head away, the joke not even pulling a smile from him.

“Please?” she asks, willing his eyes to lock onto hers.

He nods slowly and clears his throat before his arms fall down to his side and he stands tall. His eyes turn up and stare at the sky, disgust on his face.

Seconds later, his shoulders shift and she feels the wind against her face as two large white wings pop out behind him.

Chloe steps away from him, her eyes wide with wonder. There was no more room for doubt. It was all true. Lucifer has wings, and not just any wings ...  _ angel  _ wings. They radiate a divine light that acts as a beacon on the dark road. She had been chilly before but with  _ them  _ out, she feels warm and loved. She looks over them in awe as they sit wide and heavy on his back. Her eyes eventually make it to Lucifer, who avoids her stare. She can just make out the glossiness of his eyes, of him holding in his tears.

She clears her throat and blinks a few times. “They’re beautiful.”

He scoffs and the wings pull back in, plunging her yet again into the cold, dark night. His body jolts as they suck back in, as if the impact of their retraction unbalances him. She lets out a small whimper on their disappearance but catches herself before it gets louder. If Lucifer hears, he doesn't comment.

“They’re a punishment,” he says, walking forward and taking his shirt off her shoulder. “For giving mum her own universe.”

“For giving-“ she yells, before realizing her voice is so loud. She pauses, collecting herself. One thing at a time.

“Why would God punish you with wings?” she asks. “They seem more like –“

“A  _ what _ ? A blessing?!” He scoffs. “Spare me your insight, Detective, you have no idea what a _ blessing _ they are.”

“Hey, you’re not mad at me, remember? I’m just … I’m just trying to unpack this all.”

“I don’t want the bloody things! The caveats and conditions they come with. I’m not a puppet!”

“So, you’ve said.”

“It’s why I cut the damned things off to begin with!” Lucifer scoffs as he finishes buttoning his shirt. He reaches down and unbuckles his belt.

Chloe’s eyes move down to his hands and watch as he unzips his pants – clearly not wearing underwear – and tucks the tail of his shirt into his pants. Then it dawns on her. She had fantasized about the devil. 

“Oh my god,” she says out loud.

Lucifer huffs, “Finally getting it are we?” he asks. He buttons his pants up and reaches for his jacket before tossing it on quickly.

“No, I …never mind.”

“There are far more of my brothers and sisters who would jump at the opportunity to be touched in that way. Look at Amenadiel, he’s been obsessed with getting his wings back. Why not give the bloody things to him?”

“Amenadiel,” Chloe gasps. Lucifer’s brother. An angel. She blinks and steadies her breath, doing her best to not hyperventilate.

“He would love to be given a gift, as it were. I cut the damn things off and the second I figure out how to get them to stay off, I’m going to do it again.”

She stares at him, shellshocked by all of this. It was one thing to know, beyond all doubt, that her partner was an angel. That he was, in fact, the devil, but … angelic brothers? Moms with their own universe? Somehow she had also stumbled into what was apparently a feud between God and the actual devil. She had been fine before, but it all starts to hit her at once.

He turns, walks to the gas canister, and picks it back up. Without a word, he continues walking.

She leans over, resting her hands on her knees as she takes deep breaths. When he doesn’t hear her footsteps following him, he turns around to see her kneeling over.

“Detective?” he asks.

“Just –“

_ Inhale. _

“Give me-”

_ Exhale.  _ She focuses on a spot on the ground, trying and failing to stave off the closing circle of black.

_ Inhale. _

“Detective?” he asks again, an inkling of worry in his voice. 

She can hear his steps getting closer, quicker. “I need a –”  _ Exhale. _ “second.” 

She needs a second to think, to gather her thoughts into an ever-deepening hole of knowing. The Devil. God. Angels. It’s all real. Everyone she has ever known…. Heaven? Hell? 

She feels his hands on her shoulders, then the world straightens.

“Detective, are you alright?” 

Her eyes move to the stars.  _ Inhale. _ The world is so big and yet so … small.

“Detective, look at me,” he says.

The sky is so vast, and the stars behind it endless. How many more worlds are out there? How many more beings? Lives? What happens when this all ends?  _ Exhale.  _ The world and her space in it was manageable, small but manageable. Now it is … infinitesimal. Unbelievably unimportant.  _ Inhale _ . The entirety of her life and the life of her family and friends is but a blip on the long, expansive life of the universe and everything in it. God. _ Exhale. _

“Chloe,” Lucifer says. “Look at me.”

Her eyes roll down to him. He stares back at her with deep brown eyes that mirror the stars. How long has this being been alive? How much longer would he be alive? She blinks, the world spinning around her, the color draining from her peripheral vision. Why is he here? And with  _ her _ ?

“Chloe, breathe!“

She can’t.

The world turns upside down, and everything goes black.

\--

Existence is dark yet calming. It rocks with a steady undulation that soothes her and smells like sandalwood and vanilla. It is warm and Chloe hums into it, pleased. It takes a second for her to gain knowledge of her limbs, but when she does she pulls them up, holding on to something firm and warm. Slowly, her eyes open and she takes in the dark road in front of her before turning her eyes down to the suited shoulder of the man who carries her.

“Are you okay?” Lucifer asks, feeling her stir.

It takes her a moment to come to her senses, but once she does, she wraps her arms around his neck and locks her legs around his waist, her body draped over him like a backpack. Her limbs no longer hang loosely, so he stands up straight and she holds on.

“How long was I out?”

“Just a few minutes.”

There is silence between them.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pass out,” she says, embarrassment in her voice. He must think she’s stupid. A foolish human who forgets how to breathe.

He smiles softly. “You’re speaking to me. So, you’re already doing much better than Dr. Martin.”

“Linda knows?”

He nods and hums in affirmation. “Of course. She’s my therapist.”

Chloe narrows her eyes and exhales, amused. The devil has a therapist.

“Can you walk?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah, I … I was just enjoying the ride.”

A large grin forms on his face. “Were you, now?”

She groans in feigned annoyance and adjusts herself on his back, her legs wrapping tighter around him.

He groans in discomfort. “If you’re going to straddle me like a horse darling, at least watch where you are putting your spurs.”

“What?”

“Your heels, love. They are digging into my twig and berries.”

“Sorry!” she says adjusting her hold. His body shakes, holding on as she situates herself. If he were anyone else she would be concerned about his ability to hold her, but even as she moves around and gains higher ground on his back, he only barely moves.

“Darling, I-”

“I got it, I got it,” she says.

“You really don’t want to get down, do you?” he says, chuckling.

“It’s not every day I get a piggyback ride from the devil. Plus, I can’t walk anymore tonight. My feet are killing me.”

He smiles and stops momentarily to tuck the can between his legs. Then he wraps his arms around her thighs and jumps before locking his arms and securing her place high on his back. He reaches down to pick the can from between his knees and continues walking. The gas canister barely jolts in his hand, his frame stable and straight. She is silent for a while, thinking to herself. 

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“I’ve carried much more weight, Detective.”

“No, I mean … you’ve been keeping your back off of things so I thought maybe ...maybe your back hurts?”

He doesn't respond to her for a long time.

“I’m sorry, was that-”

“I cut them off,” he says, interrupting her. “If you think it's painful to cut off a limb, it’s even worse when it regrows.”

She frowns. “I’m sorry. I can get down.”

“No, it’s fine. It doesn't hurt it’s just … it is more sensitive than usual. But you’re fine, honestly. I don’t mind.”

She sighs and wraps her arms tighter around him. He walks for a little and she turns her eyes back up to the stars.

“No wonder you were so angry when you thought your wings had been stolen,” she says, still thinking of all the things he had ever said.

He grunts. “It was more than that but … yes, humans with proof of divinity don’t usually fare well.”

Chloe shrugs, “I don’t know. I think I’m doing pretty good. You know, minus the passing out thing.”

He nods and turns his head to look over his shoulder. “Yes,” he says, “One might say it is a miracle.”

“On some level,” she says, in that soft voice that makes him listen to her more than normal, “I think you…I think you wanted to keep them.”

He chuckles. “That’s what Amenadiel said.”

“Oh, so you’ve heard this then?” Of course, he has, he’s the devil. An angel. He was created before the first human ever existed. He’s probably heard and seen everything.

“I - I was afraid,” he admits, “of creating a life for myself here without knowing if things would work out. Father always seems to make his own agenda and I …”

She turns her eyes up to the stars and he goes quiet. Chloe forgoes her own existential crisis seeing how quiet he’s gotten. Lucifer is anything but quiet. She pulls herself up and cranes her neck to see his expression. He turns his head to her as she pushes off his shoulders and chuckles at her behavior. Even with the soft smile on his face, she can see the sadness behind his eyes. Finally, his silence and strange behavior makes sense.

“You were uncertain,” she says, nodding, understanding that emotion. “About what the future might hold.”

“Mmm,” he affirms, facing forward. “Dr. Martin said the same thing.”

“Us earth women are smart,” she says, smiling.

He exhales, amused. 

Her smile falls and she turns her eyes to the sky again. She’s never seen the stars so clearly. “And what about now? Are you uncertain now?” she asks.

He sighs. He doesn’t have to respond for her to know that is a yes. She wants to ask him a follow-up, but she can sense it isn’t a topic she should push right now. She opens her mouth to change the subject, but by then he is already talking. 

“Shortly after they were stolen and out of my possession, Dr. Martin helped me realize that I was holding onto the past. And that letting go of who I was is an important step to becoming who I want to be.”

“And who do you want to be?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He turns to her momentarily to find her looking at him with pure intrigue, like a puzzle or a case.

“I don’t know,” he says, his eyes flipping down to her lips momentarily. He turns to face the road in front of him. “But … I imagine him to be free. To have choice.”

She lets go a sad smile. She wraps her arms around his neck and leans in, resting her head against his. He is surprised for a moment before a small smile forms on his face. This comfort was not empty. It was full and warm and … working.

They continue walking in silence. When they get back to the car, Chloe climbs off of Lucifer’s back and immediately clambers into the passenger’s seat to get off her feet. Lucifer empties the gas can into the tank and then hops into the driver’s seat.

“I think we’re going to have to wait on picking up Scott until tomorrow,” Chloe says. “It’s getting late.”

Lucifer nods and cranks the engine. It revs to life and he easily pulls a U-turn, heading back towards the city.

Chloe sighs, glad to have the wind in her hair again. Her stomach grumbles and she reaches a hand out to hold it. Suddenly, she remembers the pack of nuts in her jacket. She reaches into her pocket and pulls it out. She tears it open before taking a handful and tossing it into her mouth.

“Perhaps you’d like me to pick something up for you and the child?” he asks.

“It’s fine. I’m sure I have some leftovers in the-”

“Leftovers?” he says as if it were a personal offense. “Darling, I’m offering you a fresh, warm meal. Don’t be obtuse.”

She rolls her eyes. “At least it's good to know you’re still annoying.”

“How about burgers and fries? You like that, right?”

She sighs and nods. “I could go for a burger.”

“Excellent,” he says as she tosses another handful of nuts into her mouth. 

His smile is small but genuine. 


	6. Winged Men

\----

Chloe spends the entire ride back to LUX thinking about the vastness of the universe outside of herself. She has only just started to come to terms with the angels and demons and is about to jump onto the subject of the afterlife when Lucifer’s Corvette pulls up to his private parking. She slides off her seatbelt and reaches down to grab the brown paper bag filled with food from the floor of the car. 

Lucifer steps out, still silent and reflective, and shuts the car door behind him. Chloe would go home and he would yet again attempt to remove his wings. He would cut them off, rejecting whatever his father had planned. He had been made whole again, and ironically he’s never felt so empty. He knows it won’t work, it hasn’t so far, but he would always choose to reject his nature and remove a piece of himself for the fleeting chance at autonomy. It hadn’t been so much about the process, but the message it sent. He would always fight, _rebel._

“Well, this has been a night ...”

Lucifer turns to Chloe to see her standing with the food in her hand, an uncertain look in her eyes.

“Are you sure you didn’t want to stay for a drink?” he asks. “I’m sure you have many more questions in that inquisitive brain of yours.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “No, no. I need to get back home and make sure Trixie’s done her homework.”

“Oh,” he says, sliding his hands into his pocket. They stand awkwardly there for a few seconds, each not knowing what to say.

“Look,” Chloe says, extending an olive branch. “I … I promise you I’m not going to run away, but … it’s going to take some time.”

He nods. “Take as much as you need, Detective.”

She smiles and raises the bag of food. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Always.”

She turns to leave and he watches her walk away before she stills. He tilts his head, watching her struggle with deciding whether or not to turn around. In the end, whatever she is thinking wins and she turns back to Lucifer.

“I … I didn’t forget you said you were _charmed_ by me,” she says.

His eyebrows raise.

“If you had told me that yesterday, I would have felt so happy, you know? That you finally let me in.”

“And now?” 

She shakes her head. “Now I - I don’t know what to make of that. How I should feel.”

He nods and sighs. “Understandable.”

She nods and offers him a placating smile. “Good night, Lucifer.”

“Good night, Detective.”

\--

Chloe has been laying in bed for almost an hour by the time she turns to check the time. She came home, ate, spent some time with Trixie, and showered before climbing into bed. And here, beneath the warmth of her covers, she stares at the ceiling, her mind rolling over unanswered questions. She can’t sleep, not because she is afraid of him or the world, but because there is so much _more_ out there now.

When it was just her and her difficult but normal life, it was simple. There are questions she had resigned herself to never knowing, to never asking, but now that she finds herself able to ask them, she is suddenly unable to _not_ know. She questions her life, her decisions, and her existence, but mostly she wonders.

She wonders if her father is in Heaven or Hell. If Lucifer knows him more than she can ever imagine. That thought, among many others, keeps her awake longer than it should. When she finally falls asleep, she dreams fitfully, and when she wakes - earlier than she should - the first thing on her mind is him. She manages to make her way through her morning routine, just enough to get Trixie out of the house and onto the bus. Then she makes her way over to Lucifer’s penthouse.

When she arrives, he is in the middle of dressing. He hears the elevator doors open and walks out of his closet, buttoning up the dark grey slacks that fit tightly around his hips. He is sans shirt and socks and approaches the steps to his bedroom with bare feet.

“Detective,” he says, shocked. “I hadn’t expected you so soon.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d get an early start on the day.”

He sighs and descends the steps. “I hope that had nothing to do with me.”

“Yes and no. I’ve just … I spent all night thinking about you.”

He stands up straight and grins. “Oh?”

“About hell, and heaven. About my Dad, you know? About what happens when this is all over,” she says, waving around the penthouse.

“Oh,” he says, deflated. “I see.”

“I just … you know, I was never really religious. I mean, I wouldn’t consider myself an atheist, but … I don’t know. I guess I never really thought about it enough to know what I did and didn’t believe.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Dad doesn’t really care about which particular name you call him. Only that you don’t do things to harm each other. Even then the bastard can’t be bothered to have a personal hand in judgement.”

She nods, indicating she’d heard him, before shaking her head once, her face scrunched in disagreement. It’s a small movement, but very indicative of the storm of questions and thoughts brewing in her head.

He nods. “I’m sorry. I thought that being upfront would help, but it seems I’ve only spurred on more questions. I understand if you need more time.”

She shakes her head and crosses her arms. “No I … I want to work through it. In fact, I think the best thing for me right now is to work.”

He smiles and nods. “I’ll pop my shirt on and we can go.”

Her eyes fall down to his chest, then down his body, taking him in with the knowledge of who and what he is. His smile falls as he sees the way she is looking at him.

“Wait here,” he says before turning and heading back up the steps to his wardrobe.

“I have no intention of following you.”

He disappears into his closet.

She sighs and brings her hand up to rub her neck.

“Will you stop by that coffee shop you like before we go?” he asks. “I’d like to get an espresso and they have the best breakfast sandwiches. My treat.”

She nods. “Yeah,” she says mindlessly, almost as a knee jerk response.

“Excellent.”

She pauses, a question pulling itself to the forefront of her mind. “Out of curiosity,” she says, “What would happen if I said no?”

She hears silence from the closet then sees him walk out and stand at the top of the steps as he tucks his shirt into his pants.

“Considering you are the one driving, I’d assume we wouldn’t go,” he says. 

“You know what I mean.”

He scoffs and shakes his head before walking back into his closet. “Detective, I have no interest in making anyone do anything. Free will? Remember?”

“So you wouldn’t, like … smite me or-“

“I would _never_ hurt you Detective.”

She nods to herself. “Right, right.”

Lucifer comes out of his closet, fiddling with his cufflinks.

“Are you sure you don’t need more time?” he asks. “I am capable of occupying myself in ways that don’t involve solving crimes.”

She shakes her head. “No, Sorry. I’m just … I’m still processing everything.”

He grunts and nods before heading back into his closet one final time to retrieve his jacket and shoes.

Chloe pauses and tilts her head.

“Wait, why- why _are_ you a consultant? I mean, a crime-solving Devil? Isn’t that a bit-”

“What? You punish bad guys, I punish bad guys. It’s a match made in ... well, it works, doesn't it?”

She sighs and nods. “I guess.”

He steps out of the closet, slipping on his jacket and pulling his sleeves straight.

“Don’t overthink it, Detective.”

\--

Lucifer, remarkably, starts to behave more like himself. He still keeps his back off things and he still tilts his head into the wind during car rides, but he’s back to eating Dan’s pudding at least. He still zones out during interviews, but at least he talks to her and engages with her. She seconds guesses how close she is to him, the devil. The idea is oddly as comforting as it is terrifying.

Chloe’s fitful sleep goes on for two more days. Each day she stays awake longer, staring at the ceiling with questions that seem odd, but fitting. Like why an apple and not another fruit? Was it named an apple? Who named it? Did fruit have names? What was the first fruit ever made? Which actually came first, the chicken or the egg? She hasn’t truly been able to sleep since finding out the truth. Instead, she stares at the ceiling with an endless barrage of questions running into her mind.

What about Adolf Hitler? He is in hell for sure, right?

If Lucifer was the King of Hell, did that mean she had a get out of jail free card? Surely, he would not turn a blind eye to her torture, right? Or would she even want that? Some sort of celestial nepotism that saw her get away with being pardoned while others suffered.

And what is eternity? Does it keep going on forever and ever or is there some end point? She knows what eternity means but she can’t wrap her head around something being … _eternal_.

Was Lucifer eternal? How old is he? If she and him had sex, would that be like _major_ cradle robbing? She knows he doesn’t want kids, but can he have kids? _Does_ he have kids?

What if she gives birth to his children, would they be like … the antichrist?

 _Fuck,_ now she’s thinking about children with the Devil.

Her mind is an endless revolving door of questions with no answers. So many that her eyes droop, tired as her brain frantically files away new things to ask Lucifer in the morning. Her eyes suddenly focus, clarity injected back into them, when she hears the distinct sound of the door opening and keys being tossed into a bowl.

_Maze._

It had been a few days since her roommate had gone out on a new bounty in a different state. But that was before she knew the truth. Maze had left her as a human, a strange human, but a human. She had left a human and come back a demon. The Devil’s guardian.

Chloe pulls herself out of bed and tosses on her robe before heading downstairs. When she reaches the bottom of the steps, she sees Maze leaned over into the fridge. Maze pulls out a beer and pops it open with her teeth before turning to the blonde.

“Hey,” she says, nodding towards Chloe before taking a large swig of her beer. She gulps it down and hums. Refreshing. “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Chloe sighs and approaches the counter. She climbs onto one of the bar stools and shakes her head. “Can’t sleep.”

Maze shuts the fridge door and approaches the counter from the opposite side. She looks at her reluctant roommate, sees the bags under her eyes and frowns. She hadn’t been gone long, but she definitely doesn't remember Chloe looking like this when she left. She angrily sets the beer on the kitchen countertop.“You need me to cut somebody?”

Chloe shakes her head as she stares at Maze. “How did I not know?” she asks, it being so apparent now.

“Know what?”

Chloe just stares at her, looking her over as if she were checking for horns or scales.

“Oh,” Maze says, recognizing that look. “You _know_.”

Chloe nods, staring forward as if waiting for _something_ to happen.

The demon just grunts and raises the beer to her lips. “So, are we good?” She loudly gulps down a swig of the beer.

“I don’t know. Are you? Are you going to, like, eat my soul or … I don’t know, take over my body or something?”

Maze narrows her eyes and raises the beer to take another swig, taking Chloe in, gauging her. “I don’t do good or bad,” she says after swallowing. She sets the beer down. “Only just and unjust. What people deserve.”

“What do I deserve?” Chloe asks cautiously.

“Other than a good night’s sleep and some peace of mind? Probably some dick.”

Her jaw drops. “Maze!” she says, turning around to make sure Trixie’s door is closed.

Maze chuckles as Chloe just laughs, aghast. The blonde closes her robe tightly. “That is none of your business.”

“Decker, look,” she says. “I get it. You’re scared but you must know by now I would never hurt you. I mean, even when I wanted to, I didn’t.”

“You wanted to hurt me?”

Maze grunts. “Decker. Keep up. I’m saying you’re safe. We’re all good. Besides, Lucifer would have my head if anyone touched his Detective.”

Chloe furrows her eyebrows.

“ _His_ Detective? So now I’m his property?”

Maze sighs and takes another sip of her beer.

“What, so now I have to like … do as he says all the time? Like some sort of servant?”

“You need sleep. You know what happens when you humans don’t rest.”

“I just …” she responds, holding onto her head. “I feel like I’m going crazy. I feel like I should be scared, should I be scared? I mean my partner is the _actual_ Devil.”

Maze takes a sip of her beer as the human in front of her turns her eyes up. “And I’m asking a demon that. Why ...why would I ask a demon that?”

Maze shakes her head. “Lucifer would never let anything happen to you. He’s already proven time and time again that he would do anything to keep you safe. And if it makes you feel better, I … I kind of want to keep you safe too.”

Chloe pauses and stares, her eyes squinting. “What do you mean he’s already proven?”

\--

The hot tub on the corner of Lucifer’s balcony is bubbling and steaming. Inside of it, Lucifer sits with a beautiful, buxom brunette. She carefully looks out to the balcony, a look of uncertainty behind her eyes.

Lucifer, having turned to grab a bottle of champagne out of an ice bucket on the edge of the tub, turns and sees her stare. He looks out towards the balcony edged by dozens of crows just staring and watching them. He sighs and turns back to her.

“Don’t mind them love, they are a bit jealous.”

 _CAW!_ A crow barks.

He pulls on the gold foil covered cork, eying her with a grin. She turns her eyes to him, sees the way he is looking at her, and her uncertainty falls into a warm smile. She bites her lip and eyes him in return, not hiding how she looks over his body with hunger. The champagne cork pops and is followed by a gush of liquid and carbon.

He winks at her, the unstated innuendo behind it very clear. She giggles. He sets the gold foiled cork on the edge of the tub and begins to pour her a glass.

Suddenly, one of the crows flies off the balcony edge.

_CAW!_

It barks at him and steals the shiny top of the cork. The woman shrieks and Lucifer ducks as it flies over him.

“Bloody …” he hisses, “damn things.”

He turns to the woman who looks frightened and hands her a glass of champagne.

“Drink up,” he says. “Can’t let this bit of bubbly go to waste.” She exhales, holding her hand over her heart, and takes it from him. He sets the bottle down on the ground just outside the hot tub, glares at the crows and turns to her.

“Perhaps we should take this affair inside soon? Hmm? And you can tell me what it is you _truly_ desire.”

She looks at him, a smile on her face and twinkle in her eyes. She brings a hand up to his shoulder.

“I want to feel you on every inch of my skin,” she says.

He chuckles warmly and leans in. “That can be arranged.”

Suddenly, the crows all bark and fly off the edge of the balcony. It startles the woman again and she pushes Lucifer away.

“This is too weird,” she says as she pulls herself out of the hot tub.

“Wha- but, darling!”

He hears a soft “hey” from behind him. He turns to find Chloe standing a few feet away from the hot tub. “Detective,” he says, shocked. “What an unexpected surprise. I thought you’d be in bed by now.”

“Yeah I … I couldn’t sleep so I just wanted to talk to you for a second. I – I promise it won’t take long then you can go back to uhm … whatever.” Her eyes cast to the woman behind him who sips downs her champagne and wraps a towel around herself.

“Right,” he says, his eyes walking down Chloe’s form. He notices the stress lines on her face and the bags beneath her eyes. He notices her hands fiddling with each other, nervous and unsure.

He sighs and turns to the woman behind him. “Perhaps another time, darling?” She scoffs, eyes Chloe curiously and walks into Lucifer’s bedroom.

“Oh, you don’t have to-“ Chloe begins.

“Nonsense,” he says reaching over to pour more champagne into his glass. “Can I interest you in a drink?” 

Chloe waves him off. “No, I’m fine. It’s too late to drink and I have to drive home so …”

“Then what can I assist you with, Detective?” he asks. “Surely you didn’t come all the way over here to see me in the buff? I would have sent you pictures.”

She huffs, his innuendo being comforting more than annoying. “I uh, I spoke with Maze just now,” she says. “Well, not just now. But before I drove over here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She told me about you … about you going to Hell for me? When I was poisoned?”

Lucifer pauses. He thinks it over for a moment before nodding. “I see.”

“So, it’s true?” Chloe asks, stepping forward.

He sighs and nods. “Yes. I saw no other option. For me to get the antidote, I had to speak with the only person that knew it. That person happened to be in Hell. I happen to be the King of Hell. You do see where this is going, right?”

She nods, fiddling with her hands again.

“How many ...” she begins before pausing, staring down at her feet. “How many times have you saved my life?”

“Enough times to know that I would do it again.”

“Even if it meant you going to Hell?” she asks.

“Trust me, visiting Hell is far less unpleasant of an experience than its alternative.”

“What is the alternative?”

He goes silent, the jets of the hot tub becoming louder in the few seconds he takes to think.

“You die and go to the Silver City,” he finally says.

“The Silver City?” 

“Yes, it’s what you humans call Heaven.”

“You don’t want me to go to heaven?” she says, furrowing her eyebrows.

He shakes his head and scoffs. “Of course I do, but …”

“But what?”

“I would never see you again,” he says sadly. “I was cast out, remember? Not exactly on the list, am I?”

“Oh.”

He huffs before pulling the champagne up to his mouth and downing the rest of the glass. “Well, congratulations on killing the mood, Detective,” he says, setting the glass down.

She smiles. “It’s what I do best.”

He chuckles and they sit in silence for a moment. She looks at him, then at the hot tub before slipping off her shoes and socks. She rolls up the edge of her jeans then sits at the edge of the hot tub, casting her feet over into the warm water below.

She lets go an exhausted sigh as her feet hit the water, and pulls a strand of hair behind her ears.

“You look tired.”

“I’m exhausted,” she responds. “I can’t stop thinking, you know?.”

Behind her, a crow lands on the edge of the balcony. It blinks and tilts its head, watching them.

“I know.” His eyes temporarily cast over towards the crow before moving back to Chloe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to inundate you with the celestial. I should have been more thoughtful with my actions.”

She scoffs. “When are you ever thoughtful with your actions?”

He grins, his eyes never turning away from her. “If it eases your mind, I wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt you or your spawn. Maze either. And if I commanded it, neither would any of the inhabitants of Hell.”

She chuckles at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement from a human standpoint. “I’m not afraid, Lucifer. I’m just … I don’t know. I’m worried. I’m confused. I’m … sad.”

“Sad?” His eyes again cast over towards the balcony where three crows now sit, watching. “What would you have to be sad about?” he says, his eyes diverting back to her.

“I don’t know? Maybe that my entire life purpose is to piece things together and even with the Devil _literally_ telling me he’s the devil from day one, I didn’t … _figure it out_?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I never considered you one for self-flagellation, Detective, but in this instance, I would say it isn’t your fault. Humans rarely ever believe me. 

She hums, slowly kicking her feet in the water. They sit in silence for a moment before she speaks again.

“I’m questioning my whole life. If anything is real.”

He nods. “You’re wise. I believe you will find your answer.”

She looks at him, a small smile forming into the corner of her mouth. “You think I’m wise?” 

“Do you believe I would hold you in such high esteem if I found you to be unwise?” 

She rolls her eyes. “You could just say yes.”

“That’s boring and ineloquent.”

She huffs, amused, and leans back on her hands. She kicks her feet slowly and yawns. There is silence between them, comfortable and still. His eyes move over to the balcony again to find a dozen crows perched on the railing again. All blinking and watching him.

He clears his throat and turns his attention back to her. He watches her as she kicks her feet, her mind lost in thought. “Stay the night.”

She rolls her eyes. “Lucifer,” she says, exhausted. “For the last time, I’m not having sex with you.”

“I said nothing of sex, Detective. It looks as though you could use some rest. I don’t imagine you will go home and sleep at this rate, so stay. If any questions pop into your mind while you doze off, I’ll be here to answer them.”

She stares at him for a moment, her eyes flipping between his. That seems like a reasonable thing.

“Stay,” he asks again, this time softer as almost a plea. “I’ll sleep on the couch if it’d make you feel better.”

Chloe sits up and combs her fingers through her hair.

“I can’t, Trixie is at home and-”

“Maze can watch her for the night. I wouldn’t trust the child with anyone else. Not even her father.”

Chloe chuckles and shakes her head. “I have to get her ready for school tomorrow morning and-”

“I will wake you up in time, Detective. I have this fantastic invention called an alarm clock.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs again, her body aching with how tired she is. Slowly she nods. “Fine. I really don’t know how I made it here in one piece.”

Lucifer smiles and sets the glass of champagne on the edge of the tub. Then he stands and Chloe’s eyes follow the trail of water that cascades down his body. He wears nothing but a pair of waterlogged boxer briefs. The wet fabric clings to every corner and divot on his body and she can’t help but stare. She’s had nothing but questions and thoughts in her head all day but suddenly she’s speechless, and thoughtless.

He steps over to a nearby chair, water dripping down his body and leaving behind puddles at his feet. He dries his chest before wrapping the towel around his waist, then he turns to find Chloe staring straight into nothing.

“Detective?”

“Huh? Hmm?” she says, turning to him.

He chuckles. “I’m afraid you zoned out. We should get you into bed soon.”

“Mmm,” she says, nodding. “Right. Sleep. Yes.” She stands, pulling her feet out of the hot tub.

She stands and turns before yelping once she sees the row of crows on the balcony.

“Oh!” she says, holding a hand over her heart as it thumps. She stares at them and they just stare at her. Lucifer comes up behind her, a displeased look on his face.

“Yes, I can’t get rid of the bloody things.”

“What are they doing?” she asks.

“Other than being horrible wingmen?”

She turns to him, her eyes wide.

“What?”

A smile crawls onto her face before she bursts into laughter, snorts and all.

“What did I say?”

\--

It doesn’t take long for Lucifer to prepare the bed. He offers her a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt he pulls from the back of his closet and she accepts. She almost falls over as she puts the pants on, exhaustion creeping up her spine like a vine. When she steps out of the bathroom, she shuts the light off behind her.

He notices her as he is locking the elevator for the night and smiles. “I expected you to be wearing much less our first night together.”

She groans and climbs into Lucifer’s bed. “Technically, this is our second, remember?”

“Ah right, the evening you got drunk and attempted to seduce me.”

‘Don’t remind me.”

“You reminded yourself, darling,” he says, laughing.

She rolls her eyes as her head hits the pillow and she lets go of a tired sigh. He shuts off the lights, leaving just a dim glow coming from the lamp above the bar. Then he turns to his couch and lays down, getting comfortable and covering himself with a thick black blanket.

“Good night, Detective.”

“Good night.”

The penthouse is silent for several minutes, but neither are asleep. She stares out towards the living room and he stares out towards the ceiling. They lay that way for a while. Lucifer shifts onto his side, getting comfortable.

“What is God like?” she asks.

She can hear Lucifer’s soft laugh from the couch. “He’s a right twat.”

“No, really.”

He sighs and is silent for a moment. Without them speaking, the penthouse is oddly serene. With the steady hum of the freezer behind the bar it feels like any other home and not the lair of the devil. She wonders what his home in Hell is like.

“He’s tall,” Lucifer says. “Taller than me or Amenadiel. I mean, I have no doubt that’s just the perception of him. His true form is much grander and much more imperceptible, but we ... but I remember him as tall.”

It is silent for a few seconds longer.

“When he speaks, it feels like … it feels like the warmest, most caring voice you will ever hear. But when he’s angry, it’s _terrifying_. It cuts into your flesh and makes you … it makes you hurt from the inside out. It feels like, well, it is the worst feeling an angel can feel. Well, besides being blamed for the sins of humanity and spending eternity shunned by family, but … who’s counting?” He falls silent.

She listens, her eyes narrowing.

“Do you miss him?”

He scoffs and clears his throat, a slight quiver in his voice when he starts speaking. “He’s my father, Detective. He’s a tyrannical, selfish, narcissistic fool whose only interest is what he wants.”

“So ... that’s a yes?”

She doesn’t get a response from him, instead only silence. She stares off into the living room, his presence as palpable as his silence. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” she says.

“I don’t want to give you the idea that I desire something more,” he replies. “Not saying I wouldn’t accept but –”

“We can sleep in the same bed,” she says, cutting him off. “We don’t need a chaperone.”

Then there is silence again before she hears Lucifer moving around on his leather couch. She hears the flap of his feet on the tile before she sees him approach the steps. He stares at her for a few moments, watching her with suspicion. Without his suit and dressed only in a pair of black boxer briefs, Lucifer - the devil himself - looks unshielded. The look in his eyes, the suspicion and uncertainty makes him look even more human to her. 

“Well, I’m not going to _beg_ you,” she says, lazily rolling her eyes.

That seems to ease his reservations and he walks up the steps and climbs onto the other side on the bed. He lays there for a moment before she turns to face him. He lays facing the ceiling but turns his head to her.

They lay there for a moment before she yawns again. He smiles and turns his head back to the ceiling.

“What does it feel like to fly?” she asks, her eyes fluttering as she tries to keep them open.

He is silent, non-responsive.

“I don’t have wings, so I don’t know,” she says, pulling the sheet up around her shoulder and getting more comfortable. She yawns again.

“Bittersweet.”

She shakes her head. “How? Flying seems … freeing.“

He sighs. “It isn’t the flight, detective. it is the mode by which one flies. Flying itself is …” He pauses, his eyes going soft like he is remembering pleasant thoughts. “It _is_ freeing. You feel weightless. The only time you really feel … whole. Complete. _Perfect_.”

He sighs, sadness inside his eyes.

“Flying _is_ freedom, but wings are servitude. There is not one without the other.”

“You must fly all the time, then,” she says, her words crawling out from beneath her partially parted lips.

He can tell she is falling asleep, fighting with a sleep that has been needed for days now. “I used to, but … it’s been eons now.”

She lays there, eyes closed. He watches as her shoulders rise and fall softly.

“Mm,” she eventually hums, as if for a moment she had fallen asleep. “Why not?” she mumbles.

He turns his eyes back to the ceiling. He stares at it for a moment, unsure if he wants to speak. He blinks and eventually, softly, speaks.

“When I was cast down to hell, my whole body burned, including my wings. It gave rise to what I affectionately call my devil form. I believe you’ve seen drawings of that.”

“Devil form?” she mumbles.

He nods. “My flesh burned. For centuries, I was a comet falling through the stars. It leaves a mark.”

Her eyes open, then widen in shock. “Lucifer, oh my God,” she says softly.

He huffs, “Yes, quite.”

“That’s horrible,” she says, the horror behind her eyes.

“My body healed eventually, as did my wings but … they were no longer mine. They were reminders of what I had done. Of where I had come from. I didn’t feel right using them. Using something so divine in a place so unholy. So, I kept them in. I only took them out when I needed to remind the demons of my station or when I needed to ascend to my throne. In the early days they stayed out, but eventually … I hid them away.”

He turns his head back to her to watch her, she looks as though she might be sleeping but he can tell she is still barely awake. Then it occurs to him that If he keeps talking, she wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask more questions. Without questions plaguing her mind, she might fall asleep.

“When I came to earth, they became a symbol of my subordination to dad. That I was not my own, but his to do as he pleased. I did not want that, I … I never wanted that.”

He is silent, watching her for a moment. She looks peaceful and it soothes something he didn’t know needed soothing in his spirit.

“So, I cut them off.”

“Mmm,” she hums, as if saying she is still there, but he can tell it means nothing. It is a knee-jerk reaction. She is almost unconscious, but even in this state, she wants to assure him she is listening. Like the adult part of her brain wants to be there for him.

He smiles as he watches her fight sleep. His smile falls when he thinks about his wings. “I tried cutting them off again, but they keep growing back.” He sighs and turns his eyes back to the ceiling.

“To you, they might be beautiful, but, to me, they are shackles. I have no choice but to keep them, to be what father intends me to be. To be on call like some … _backup_. Some patient soldier with no idea of when or where he will take me.”

He turns back to her and stares at her again as she starts to snore. He smiles to himself and turns on his side to face her. He watches her lovingly, his smile slowly falling.

“And that is why I’ve changed.”

He watches her to make sure she is completely asleep. “You deserve so much more.”


	7. The Wing Spot

\----

Chloe stirs to the smell of toasting bread and sweet peppers. Her eyes peel open, the distant sizzle of something cooking filling her ears. She sits up in bed and wipes the sleep from her eyes before turning to find the spot next to her empty.

“Lucifer?” she mumbles, before kicking the covers off and standing.

She shuffles down the steps, across the living room, and into the small kitchen tucked in a hallway next to the bookcase.

When she enters, she finds Lucifer - still in only his underwear - making breakfast. He turns to her as she enters.

“Ah!” he says happily. “Breakfast is almost ready. Have a seat.”

He motions with the spatula in his hand to a small breakfast table in the corner. It sits in front of floor to ceiling windows. She smiles and stretches as she approaches the table and plops down into a seat.

“What time is it?” she asks.

Lucifer turns his eyes to a clock above the stove.

“Eight forty-five.”

“Eight fort-!” she screams, as she pops up in her chair. “Lucifer! You told me you were going to wake me up!”

“Yes, but I saw you were resting so well, I didn’t want to disturb you. So, I called Mazikeen to make sure the child was taken to school.”

Chloe stares at him, her eyes wide and blinking. Okay, so he at least had the foresight to think about Trixie but … “Great, now I have to explain to my kid that I spent the night at your place.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “The child seemed too excited to show off her demon friend to her schoolmates to be worried about where you slept last night, Detective. Besides, we didn’t have sex, what would there be to explain?”

Chloe narrows her eyes. “Not the point.”

“Well, either way,” he says, sliding the omelet in his pan onto a plate. “It means you had more time to sleep and I had more time to prepare you breakfast.”

He sets the plate on the table and she turns to it.

“You made me breakfast,” she says, a little shocked by that.

“What? You don’t believe I’m a good host to all the women I share a bed with?”

She scoffs and takes the fork Lucifer offers her. “Didn’t figure you for the breakfast type.”

“Then what type am I?” he asks, a salacious grin on his face, ready to make an innuendo.

She doesn’t encourage him. Instead, she cuts a piece of the omelet and takes a bite. The second it hits her tongue she rolls her eyes in the back of her head and hums.

“I take it I have your approval?” he grins.

“You’re lucky you can cook, or I’d be super pissed at you.”

He chuckles and approaches the counter before cracking two eggs into a bowl. She eats and watches him as he prepares his omelet. She hums, pleased, through each bite and he has a permanent grin stuck on his face. He whisks the eggs and her eyes move to his naked back, to the smooth skin on his shoulder blades. Wings, she thinks. The Devil. Her eyes move down his body as his hips sway with his movement. She can’t help but notice how very little on his body jiggles. He is toned, strong, and  _ smooth _ .

_ Probably everywhere _ , she thinks. She tilts her head before she catches herself looking and clears her throat.

“Too much pepper?” he asks, turning to her.

“No, no. It’s delicious,” she says with a smile. “Thank you.”

He nods and turns back to pour the whisked egg mixture into the pan.

“So …” she begins, a little hesitant. “Since we’re kind of on the topic, why  _ do _ you have so many lovers? Is that a you thing, or an angel thing?”

He chuckles. “Well, why wouldn’t I?” he counters.

She cuts another piece of her omelet with her fork. “I mean, I understand in total. You know … being around since the beginning of  _ literal _ time.”

“Before then, actually.”

“Right,” she says, pausing, answering her own question about his age. Old, is the answer.  _ Really _ old.

Her eyes turn to him, back to his toned thighs and tight butt. He doesn’t look old. She imagines he doesn’t  _ feel _ old either.

“But I assume you mean monthly?” he says, turning to her.

She averts her gaze quickly and takes a bit of her omelet. “Mmhmm,” she hums, nodding.

He shrugs and turns back to cooking his omelet. “Certainly, I shouldn’t have to tell  _ you _ that it feels good,” he says amused. “And I’m good at it. Why wouldn’t I want to share that with others? Life is meant to be shared.”

“Yeah, but sex is supposed to be intimate and … personal. With someone who knows and loves you.”

Lucifer scoffs, amusement in his tone. “Is that what they’re teaching? No, sex is carnal and physical. It is desire and lust and nothing more.”

She chuckles at the audacity, her leg coming up to rest her foot on the chair as she gets more comfortable. “ _ Come on _ . You can’t tell me that random sex flings are as fulfilling as love-making.”

He laughs at her and shakes his head. “Darling, I know it's been a while for you, but the act is the same.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “It’s not.”

He scoffs and flips the omelet skillfully in the pan. “Agree to disagree, Detective.”

She chews her omelet, watching him with intrigue. She tilts her head as if something just occurred to her. “Have you  _ ever  _ made love?” 

He doesn’t immediately respond to her, but she can see his focus has changed from his omelet.

“Have you ever even loved someone?” 

He looks down at the omelet before she sees him take a deep breath and reach for the pepper. “My history with that sort of thing is … limited. Love is …”

Love is what? Fake? A series of chemicals that fade over time?  _ Conditional? _ Love never did  _ anything _ for him. Love made him burn for centuries. Love  _ forced  _ him to become the executioner of mortal torture for eternity, all while dragging his name through the dirt. Love gave him a brief glimpse of freedom only to trap him in the suffocating truth of his enthrallment..

“The last time I  _ loved _ someone,” he cautions, the absolute loathing audible in his voice. “I was cast out of the silver city. So excuse me if I haven’t been interested in pursuing it.”

She sets her fork down, disappointment growing behind her eyes. “Oh, Lucifer,” she sighs.

“Don’t,” he seethes. He turns his torso to look at her. “I do not require nor desire your pity. You humans place far more value on the small things. I assume it has to do with your mortality and all. Wanting to find meaning in the  _ utterly _ meaningless.”

She nods, wiping the look off her face. Slowly he turns back to shake the pan, loosening the omelette from the sides. They sit inside the relative silence of eggs sizzling and her fork scraping on her plate.

She pokes at her eggs, trying to come up with a line of questioning that doesn’t make it seem like she is judging him. “Love isn’t a small thing, Lucifer. Any life, human or non-human, deserves to have someone to share it with. Even if it’s temporary.”

“I’ve lived long enough to know that isn't a necessity.”

“Do you think you would ever change your mind? Like, do you want something like that?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand your fascination with-”

“Do you desire it?”

He pauses before turning to her, a deep grin on his face. “Are you asking me what I desire, Detective? Because I believe that’s my job.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Honestly. Do you want love or do you want to continue having random, meaningless sex with strangers?”

He chuckles. “Darling, random, meaningless sex is my specialty. Why mess with a good thing?”

“Lucifer, if you think you have nothing else to offer then you are wrong. You deserve-”

He turns to her quickly. “I am a being of desire, Detective. I am who I am meant to be. In all manners.”

She nods, seeing she’s uncovered a difficult subject. “So you don’t want love?” she asks, fidgeting with her eggs. He watches her for a second before turning back to his omelet. 

“Love is not loyalty,” he says. “Love discards you, but loyalty quite literally never lets you down.”

She narrows her eyes at him. That didn't tell her what she needed to know. He’s circumventing her answers. Not outright lying but circling the truth. For a man who insisted he never tell a lie, his circumvention spoke volumes about what the truth might be.

She watches him for a second before setting her fork down. “If you say you are charmed by me … does that mean you have feelings for me?”

He is silent, his back turned to her, but she can see his whole body tense. She can feel him thinking, trying to find a way around the question.

“I … it could very well be in the realm of possibility. I value your partnership and- and your loyalty,” he offers.

She nods, her fork still toying with her eggs. “Is it also in the realm of possibility that you … you love me?”

She doesn’t get a response from him, just silence and the taut muscles on his back as his body locks up.

She slowly sets her fork down and stands, approaching him from behind. She sets a hand on his shoulder as he turns his head away, needing more time to think.

“Lucifer?” she asks.

He doesn’t respond, his mind trying to come up with a way to circumvent this. Any admission of feeling would be, well ... it would be wrong. Unfair. It isn’t her choice. She sighs, her hand trailing down his shoulder to rest on the center of his back. Her hand is warm and sends a strange current up his spine.

“Oh Lucifer,” she sighs sadly. She begins to rub his back in small and soothing circles. She is gentle, loving.

He huffs, his entire nervous system tingling beneath her touch. She is touching his back, right below where his wings are and he can feel them jittering with energy, wanting to pop out. He holds it in, realizing he feels the tingle somewhere else as well. The fabric of his boxers gets a little tighter, a noticeable bulge beginning to swell in his underwear.

She continues to rub his back before pausing, realizing she is touching him on the place where his scars used to be. He hasn’t told her no, or to stop. Is he letting her in? She slowly resumes, the only response to her action being the increasingly labored breath from Lucifer, who still arches his head away from her.

“Lucifer, I just-“

He turns his body away from her, trying to hide the tenting inside his boxer briefs. He wasn’t one to hide his arousal, but this felt peculiar. All she was doing was rubbing his back, yet it feels like she is touching his wings, his body, his cock …  _ everywhere _ . He chokes, his hand coming down onto the counter to steady himself. He’s rock hard and tries not to buck his hips, glad for what little restraint he last left.

“Lucifer?” she asks, concerned he might be crying. She continues to rub his back softly. “It’s okay,” she says. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot.”

“Detective,” he warns, his voice tense as he holds onto the edge of the stove. 

“I just … I feel like we’re finally in a position where we can talk about these kinds of things,” she continues, all the while rubbing his back. “Now that everything is on the table, we … I feel closer to you. And I know it’s hard-”

“It is,” he huffs, feeling the precum drip from his tip. He holds onto the counter tightly, holding back the urge to pump his pelvis, the friction of his underwear against his skin already too much. It mimics the friction of a body, of a lover, of her. She rubs his back, her fingers tracing against the edges of his shoulder blades, where his wings come out. It feels way better than it should. It feels like she has her hand stuck inside his nervous system where every stroke of her hand turns tighter the coil tensing in his lower stomach.

“And I’m not going to lie, it’s going to be uncomfortable at first. You know, there are going to be moments when it feels overwhelming. Where I think it might be too much to take-”

“ _ Bloody Hell _ ,” he huffs, his hips undulating forward. The more she rubs his back, the more it feels like her hands are tightly wrapped around his cock, begging him to give her a different kind of breakfast.

“But I’m willing to go all the way if you are.”

“Detective, I-” he chokes out, starting to arch his back away from her. If he doesn’t stop this, he’s going to -

“I know,” she says, interrupting him, rubbing his back in soft circles. “It feels like a lot. It is scary. I’ve never had to deal with something this big either.”

He groans. He wants to move away from her, but she has him wedged between the stove and the fridge.

“And I can’t promise things will always be okay between us,” she says. “But I want you to know I’m always here for you, okay? And whatever happens we … we will work at it, right? Because that’s what partners are for. When things are hard, we just … we work at it and keep on working at it.”

“Chloe,” he pants, his breath so light it sounds weak and fragile.

“Just … let it out,” she says, rubbing his back. “I can take it all. I  _ want _ to take it all.”

His body tenses and he falls forward, shuddering. He feels an explosion of warmth through his body, intense and quick. Then he cums, hot fluid filling the front of his underwear. He shudders into it, his cock pulsing through each new wave and her hand still on his back. He groans through each spurt, relief piling into his muscles as his hips rock, needing to thrust.

“Lucifer?” she asks, this time with confusion in her words. She pulls her hand off him. That did not sound like a tearful release. She watches him rut against the counter, his shoulder blades bulging oddly before he grunts, attempting to stifle a response that seems natural.

It doesn’t work and seconds later his wings pop out and she jumps back. His wings knock over boxes on top of the nearby fridge and bump into the crystal chandelier above the sitting area. The chandelier swings back and forth, the small droplet-sized crystals refracting the light from the window in a different way. It causes small rainbows to hit the edge of his wings. Her jaw drops as she looks over his wings. They are scraggly and unkempt, but even in their current condition, they look unearthly. The droplets of light from the chandelier make them sparkle.

“Wow,” she exhales.

Her voice cuts through his euphoria and leaves him in the cold aftershock of what just happened. He just came in his underwear, from a simple backrub no less. His head snaps to her, his eyes widened in shock. She backs away from him. She had expected him to be crying, but the look on his face is of utter horror.

She smiles at the look on his face. “What, don’t tell me you didn’t mean to do that. It kind of looked like you liked it.”

He stares at her, eyes wide before his eyes turn down to his crotch where the evidence of his orgasm is clear as day against the stained black fabric of his underwear.

“Lucifer?” she asks, worried at his lack of response.

He shifts his shoulders and pulls his wings in, allowing the droplets of light to hit his smooth skin instead.

“I was joking,” she says. “I just thought- I didn’t mean to-”

She approaches him and sets a hand on his shoulder. He turns to her, his eyes wide as if he still doesn’t know what to say. 

“Lucifer?” she asks again, worried at how he is looking at her. She tries to turn him around more, but his body doesn’t move. He is hiding something.

She tries again, this time more insistent, and his body hesitates before willingly turning. Her eyes cascade down his chest, to his abdomen, then to his crotch where she sees the fresh stain at the center of his boxers and a very obvious bulge.

“Oh,” she says. “I - I … uh.”

He huffs and grabs a dishtowel off the counter before placing it over his lap.

“Humiliating,” he grunts out before speeding past her.

“It’s okay,” she says, calling after him as he jogs up the steps into his bedroom.

When he disappears into the bathroom she slowly sits back down at the table. She stares forward, her brain on autopilot as she recalls the previous moments. His body shuddering, the gasp he made. She did that. She made him cum by just touching him. Had she done that by just rubbing his back? Is that why he didn’t want her to touch his scars? She swallows, unsure on how she should feel that she continues to fantasize about the devil. An angel. An immortal. 

When the toast pops up, it frightens her out of her thoughts. She stands up and grabs the toast. Her eyes snap over to the stove as she realizes the omelet is still cooking.

“Shit!” she says, dropping the bread on the counter and moving to turn the stove off.

It is a long while later when he comes back into the kitchen after showering and putting on a suit. By now she has made him a new omelet and sets his plate on the table.

“I uhm … you burned your other one, so I had to make you another omelet.”

He turns his eyes to the plate.

“It’s probably not as good as yours-”

“Nonsense. I’m sure it’s delicious, Detective. Thank you.”

She nods and sits.

He joins her across the table and he eats in silence. She chews on a piece of cold toast and sips a freshly-brewed cup of coffee.

“So uh … are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?

He scoffs. “It’s not _ that _ big.”

She narrows her eyes before she realizes what he is talking about. “What? No! I’m talking about … I’m talking about you, you know … finishing in your pants.”

He sets his fork down, his face turning red. “I’d rather not talk about it, Detective. It’s … I’m not one to cum from just a simple back rub. It’s just been a bit longer than usual since I had a release. The whole cutting-wings-off-every-night thing takes up time, as you may imagine.”

“Right. Is that why you don’t want things touching your back?”

He sighs, resigned to this conversation.

“It’s just … the wings make them more sensitive to touch. Especially when … well …”

“Well, what?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything. Forget any of that happened.”

She guffaws and shakes her head. “Highly doubt I’m going to forget that anytime soon.”

He glares at her and she chuckles. “Oh come on.”

He grunts and starts to shovel food into his mouth. She watches him, sipping on her coffee.

“So uh, not to be a buzzkill or anything,” she says, “but you never answered my question.”

“I believe I answered all of them.”

She shakes her head. “You never told me if … you never said if you being charmed by me … what that means.”

“Oh.” He watches her for a moment, gauging her. He turns back to his food and is quiet for a few seconds longer before he sighs.

“I don’t know what this feeling is,” he says, scooping up a bite of eggs. “But if I had to categorize it then I suppose it might be … a love of sorts.”

He takes a bite and continues eating, not looking up at her. She smiles and sips her coffee.

“Then,” she says tilting her head and staring up into the ceiling as she thinks. His eyes quickly flick to her before going back to his food.. “I suppose if I were being honest with myself, and I also had to categorize it, I might  _ also _ feel a love of sorts.”

He turns his eyes up to her and she smiles at him before sipping her coffee. He sits up, his back straight.

“Fascinating,” he says.

She smiles and goes back to sipping her coffee.

He watches her for a moment, the look of awe fading into terror. He clears his throat and turns back to his food.“There is one topic I’d like to broach with you … that is, if you feel up to more celestial knowledge.”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “When will I ever be up for it?”

“Right,” he says.

She sets her cup down and pulls her knees up to her chest as he goes in for another bite.

“What is it?” she asks.

He nods and swallows, nervously. “Well … I’d like to start by saying I had nothing to do with it.”

She narrows her eyes. “With what?”

\--

“You’re  _ what _ ?” Amenadiel asks, standing in Lucifer’s living room, his arms crossed.

“On vacation,” Lucifer replies, doing air quotes with his fingers. “For a few days. Or a week. She hasn’t yet decided.”

He trots casually down the steps and walks towards the bar where his jacket sits next to a half-empty glass of whiskey.

“She texted me – _ texted _ , not called. Said she didn’t need me and that she needed space anyway.”

“Give her some time, Luci,” Amenadiel says. “She’s having to process more than most mortals have to.”

He scoffs. “No thanks to you,” he grumbles as he raises the glass to drink.

The second it touches his lips, he rotates one of his shoulder blades. It’s an innocuous movement, one that doesn’t draw too much attention.

“I told you, I was –”

“Only doing as Father asks, yes,” Lucifer says. “We covered that. Doesn’t change the Detective’s rather appropriate existential crisis, does it?”

Amenadiel chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s strong. She’ll be back to her normal self soon. She’s still working with you, right? She still wants you around.”

Lucifer sighs and nods. “I suppose you have a point, but it’s already been three days. How long does it take to- ah!” He rolls his shoulder again and this time it catches Amenadiel’s attention.

“Is everything alright?” 

“Yes, fine. Just a little itch,” he says.

Amenadiel hums. “I could speak to her if you’d like?” 

“I think you’ve done enough,” Lucifer insists.

Amenadiel nods and Lucifer groans.

“Bloody-!” He reaches over the bar and grabs a long bar spoon. He reaches his arm behind him and uses it to scratch between his shoulder blades.

Amenadiel narrows his eyes. “What’s going on with your back?”

Lucifer looks at him, pauses, and sighs. He goes back to scratching, holding his other hand out. “Okay, but you’re not going to like this,” he says.

“What?”

“I … I may have gotten my wings back.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, but you have to understand. I didn’t bloody want the things. This is a punishment, Amenadiel, not a gift. If I could give you my wings, I would.”

Amenadiel sighs and shakes his head. “Father probably still finds me undeserving of them.”

Lucifer continues scratching his back, then realizes the spoon does nothing. He tosses it aside and approaches the corner wall near the steps. Here, he begins to rub his back against the corner like a bear to a tree.

Amenadiel sighs. “Luci, just set them free.”

“No!” he says. “That is what … that is what he wants-”

He grunts and unbuttons his shirt. “That is what he wants,” Lucifer says. “And I will not be his puppet.”

Amenadiel rolls his eyes. “And yet again your martyrdom only hurts you more. You know what this means, right? If they itch so badly.”

Lucifer tosses his shirt to the side and goes back to rubbing his back against the wall. “I’ve done it once, I can do it again.”

Amenadiel smiles a little. At least the wing experience was miserable for Lucifer. That soothes the wound a little.

“Lucifer,” Amenadiel chuckles. “Just do it. You will save yourself the hassle.”

Lucifer grunts, disgusted. “Fine,” he says, stepping down the steps. The second his foot hits the landing two white wings unfurl behind him, followed by a plume of dander. The wings stretch with joy before folding against his back. He approaches the bar to pour another glass.

“Better?” Amenadiel asks.

Lucifer grunts. He flaps his wings, sending little wisps of fluff into the air. He grabs the spoon again and begins to scratch between his shoulder blades.

“It’s just like father to ruin my plans,” he huffs.

“He ruined your plans by giving you wings?” Amenadiel says, already disbelieving Lucifer’s whining.

“I was going to tell the Detective? Wasn’t I?”

“You’ve been telling her all along,” Amenadiel says. “How does having wings change that?”

Lucifer scoffs. “Of course, you would think nothing of them. But I was going to give us a real shot. Really try. And now … now everything has to go on hold until I figure out how to get rid of the bloody things.”

Amenadiel shakes his head. “Lucifer, you can still try with Chloe. Why do the wings have to stop you?”

“Because,” he huffs.

“Because what? Because you’re restored to your former glory? Because she’s mortal? Because-”

“Because he made me his angel!” Lucifer screams as he spins around.

His wings sweep across the bar and smack into the decanter of whiskey, knocking it off the bartop. It crashes to the ground and breaks, covering the floor in shards of glass and Karuizawa Samurai whiskey.

“Oh for fuck’s-” he begins, stepping away from the whiskey, trying not to get any on his feet.

Amenadiel sighs and shakes his head.

“He made me his servant,” Lucifer says, walking around the bar to get a bottle. “To do as he pleases, when he pleases. No matter how many times I try to chop the damn things off, they keep coming back.”

“That is not what is happening, Luci. We are not servants.”

Lucifer scoffs and pops the cork on the bottle. He forgoes a glass and takes a swig of the whiskey before setting the open bottle on the counter.

“How am I supposed to do anything with Chloe if I feel …” he says, leaning down and fumbling with glass bottles before pulling out another glass decanter.

“... like Father is just making me do it?” he asks. “Or even worse, making  _ her  _ do it.”

He grabs the bottle and tips it into the decanter, setting it upside-down so it empties the brown liquid inside.

“Your wings are not a burden, Lucifer. They are a gift.”

Lucifer scoffs. “I would have preferred a bottle of whisky. At least then the  _ gift  _ would be useful.”

\--

A few hours later, Chloe sits at her desk, flicking her pen between her fingers. She pauses and looks at her watch before grunting and flicking her pen again as she reads.

“Chloe,” she hears.

She looks up to see Amenadiel approaching her desk. She glares at him as if this is not what she wanted today.

“I’d like to speak with you if possible,” he says.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you. Or does what I want not matter?”

He nods to himself. “I understand your frustration but-”

She stands up quickly, the metal of her chair scraping against the tile floor. “You have no idea!” she snaps. “You don’t-“

She pauses as if realizing she is making a big scene at work, or that she is yelling at an angel. She straightens her jacket, tightens her lip, and sits back down.

“I’m not interested in what you  _ feel _ ,” she says.

“Please,” he says, with a soft smile and soft eyes. He looks positively angelic and harmless.

She tenses her jaw and sighs reluctantly. “You have five minutes.”

He nods and smiles. “Why’d you call Lucifer out of work today?” 

She rolls her eyes. “That’s what you want to talk about? Look, Lucifer and I are okay if you are worried about that. I just … I needed some space.”

“How much space?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Space …time, a second to breathe,” she says annoyed. “Besides, don’t you have any other  _ miracles _ you should be performing?”

He nods. “You’re upset that Father had a hand in making you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t … I just want to work. Okay? I want to do the thing that I  _ chose _ to do. Or is that also a manipulation of my whole life? Can I not decide to do something without Lucifer? Or is that like … is that the rest of my life? Doing as Lucifer wants me to do like some _ freaking  _ Stepford housewife?”

Amenadiel scoffs, amused before shaking his head.

“Yeah, real funny stuff,” she says, flustered.

“Every choice you have ever made has been completely your own,” he says. “Free will? Remember? Father imbued all mortals with it. We can’t change it to suit our desires.”

She stares at him for a moment. He stands sturdy as if so completely sure of what he is saying he is willing to bet his life on it. Then her thoughts roll onto Lucifer. He looked so scared and morose when she saw him in the hospital. He smiled and spoke like Lucifer, but his body moved differently, and the spark behind his eyes was dulled. He had been changed, he said. His free will had been removed from him. He looked like she feels right now. She sighs, overwhelmed, and leans forward. Her head falls into her hands.

“I just … it feels so much bigger than me.”

“And it has always been that way,” he says. “You knowing you are a miracle changes nothing about how real and meaningful your life is, Chloe.”

She turns her head up to him, her eyes glassy and on the verge of tears.

“That should make you feel special, not overwhelmed. Father has so much love for you.”

“What about not being affected by Lucifer’s mojo? Should I be overwhelmed by that?”

Amenadiel smiles widely and shakes his head. “Special,” he replies.

She shakes her head and sits back, her arms crossed. She reaches out to wipe the tear from her eye.

“It’s just … a lot to process.”

“I know,” Amenadiel offers, his head dipping in sympathy. “But the great thing about having someone who understands you is that you don’t have to do it alone.”

She turns her eyes to him.

“If you choose,” he adds.


	8. Birds of a Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice as long as a normal chapter because I can't count. Oh well. One more chapter to go! Thanks to everyone who has read and left a comment so far. You could be doing other things with your time instead of reading my little ol' fanfiction. So thank you and Happy New Year's! <3

\---

The elevator doors open and Chloe finds Lucifer, sans shirt, sitting on his sofa with his back turned to her. He scratches, or attempts to scratch, his back with a metal fork.

She walks in, her eyes narrowed with confusion. “What are you doing?” 

He whips around to her and then bolts up from the sofa, tossing the fork to the side. “Detective!” he says surprised. “I … I hadn’t expected you to stop by. I would have prepared.”

She nods, her arms crossed, as she approaches him. “I, uhm … I wanted to apologize,” she says, walking towards him. “For kind of disappearing on you. I guess I’ve been doing a lot of that lately, huh?” 

He stares at her, bug-eyed and still. Afraid to move despite the growing itch up his spine.

She slowly approaches him, nervously fiddling with her fingers. “I just needed a little time away to ... to process _everything_. It’s just been a lot over the past few weeks.”

“Understandable, and if I can do anything to make it easier, please-”

“That’s the thing,” she says, shaking her head. “I … I don’t think it will be easy. I just … I need time.”

He nods. It isn’t something he wants to hear but it is better than a goodbye. “I understand,” he says. “I believe I have quite a few sick and vacation days saved up. I could be out of your hair for what, a week? Maybe two?”

“No, I need time but I don’t need … I don’t need distance, if that makes sense.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “I’m not quite following.”

She sighs and moves to sit on his couch. He follows her lead and sits next to her. His shoulder blade shifts, an itch developing in the center of his back.

“I don’t want you to think that I consider any of _this_ to be your fault,” she says.

“I assure you I am as guiltless in this whole affair as you are.”

She nods. “I know. We’re both just … we’re both kind of stuck here, aren’t we?”

He huffs and nods to himself. His lip raises and he tilts his neck as the itch starts to burn on his back.

“It’s a lot to process and it feels overwhelming at times but … at least I know that you’re just as overwhelmed as I am. You know? This is a change for both of us. You with your wings and me with … well, everything else.”

He nods, his jaw tensing. He rotates his shoulder, trying to get that itch to stop.

“So I just wanted to come over and say that we’re okay, _I’m_ okay. Okay?” She places a hand on his shoulder and rubs it. He smiles and nods.

He nods, relieved. “Okay.”

She smiles back, her hand sliding onto his back. She pats it and he arches away from her touch. She pulls her hand away. “Sorry, I forgot!”

He shakes his leg, anxious, the itch crawling up into his neck. “No, it’s fine. Really. Actually, will you … can you scratch it for me?” he asks, turning his back to her.

“Oh,” she says, surprised. “You want me to- Okay, sure.” She begins to lightly scratch his back, barely tracing fingernails over his freckled skin.

“Harder.”

She tilts her nails lightly against his skin and he groans, leaning into her touch.

“Too much?” 

He shakes his head. “Harder.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods fervently. “Please.”

She digs her nails in, leaving bloodless trails that fill and redden in the wake of her fingers. He groans.

“Higher,” he implores.

She scratches her nail directly towards the center of his back, right between his shoulder blades.

He sighs and lowers his head, a tingling developing at the base of his spine.

“There?” she asks.

He nods, feeling his cock beginning to swell with blood. He ignores it for the wonderful feeling of satiation her scratching brings. He’s been itching all afternoon, but only now does he get some relief. He arches his back as he slouches forward, his shoulder blades shifting and opening his spine to her touch.

“Yes,” he moans. He sounds pleased, _exceptionally_ pleased.

She tilts her head, memories of the last time she touched his back flooding into her mind. She removes her hand and he turns to her, eyes wide.

“Why did you stop?” he says, his hair completely disheveled and his eyes begging.

“I …I just, last time I touched your back-”

“Oh.” His hand slowly moves to hide the tent developing in his pants. The movement causes her eyes to cast down and she sees it.

“Right, I …”

“Not that I have a problem with it. It’s just … you seemed ... I don’t want to make you feel like-”

‘Right, sure, but this is different,” he says.

She raises an eyebrow. “It is?” she questions, her eyes pointedly moving to his crotch.

He nods. “Yes. This time it’s for a purpose, yes? I have this horrible itch and-”

“And you’re getting hard,” she smiles, secretly a little pleased.

“I … yes, it feels good but-”

He rolls his shoulder again, the itch becoming stronger. “It also is helping because-” The itch grows wide on his back and he shifts his shoulders again. “Just … please!” he says, turning his back to her. “It itches so bloody badly.”

She puts her hand back on him and starts to scratch. His body immediately collapses into her hand.

“Oh,” he groans, his head tilting down. She scratches and he moans, his leg shaking.

“There,” he grunts.

She continues to scratch, her nails getting into the mix. His breathing stutters, his breath caught in his throat. He leans further into her touch, his shoulder blades bulging beneath the pressure of keeping his wings in.

“No, lower,” he gasps.

She follows his direction, unsure of what the hell is going on but knowing she wants to be along for the ride.

“Oh,” he whispers, panting. His leg shakes, and her eyes move down to it to see him cupping himself. The sounds he is making and the way his body wiggles through her scratching make her incredibly curious about how this is going to end.

He moans and wraps his hand firmer around the bulge between his legs. He squeezes, trying hard to keep from taking himself into hand right now.

She notices and clears her throat. “You know if you … if you need to, you know. I don’t mind.”

“Sorry,” he pants, moving his hand. “Wires are getting crossed, love. It just … it feels so good. I’ll try and - mmph - lower.”

“Lower?”

He nods and she acquiesces. He shudders, his shoulder blades bulging visibly.

“No, higher,” he demands.

She moves her hand higher and he shifts his back, trying to get her to a specific spot. She tilts her head to peep over his shoulder. He is trying hard to keep his hand away from the bulge beneath his pants. Instead, he holds onto the side of his sofa, gripping it for dear life. She bites her lip, the gears turning in her head.

“I could help you … you know.”

“Hmm?” he hums, his eyes shut and focused on the feeling of her nails against his skin.

She scoots forward until her knee presses against his lower back. He turns his head to her and their eyes lock. Her arm curves around his torso before she lays a hand on the bulge beneath his grey slacks. His eyes open and he turns to see her rubbing his cock through his pants.

“Detective?” he asks, watching her hand seek out the outline of his cock and stroke it with a lovely amount of pressure.

She doesn’t respond, instead she watches him for any sign that what she is doing might not be okay. He sits very still. Slowly his head turns and his eyes meet hers. There is curiosity and need inside his eyes.

She lays her hand flat on his back as her other hand unbuttons the single button on his slacks. He just watches her, his eyes narrowing as the itch starts to burn beneath her hand.

He shifts his shoulders, uncomfortable.

“Chloe,” he begs.

She nods and immediately she curls her nails into his back and drags down hard. He tosses his head back, a pleased hiss climbing from his throat.

She slides her hand into his pants and rubs him through the fabric of his underwear. One hand scratches his back, while the other strokes him over his underwear. She can feel him, rock hard and pulsing beneath her grip. It stirs the butterflies inside her stomach and she develops her own shortness of breath.

They are silent as one hand massages his cock and the other scratches his back. He pumps his hips into her hand, his breath catching as a low whine leaves his throat. When his thrust doesn’t give him the relief he is looking for, he grunts impatiently.

He finishes unzipping his pants and slips his hands into his underwear to pull out his cock. She raises an eyebrow, the speed of this moment catching her off guard. He doesn't bat her hand out of the way, but the utter need of his movement makes her bow out gracefully. She had thought it would be slower, more romantic. He doesn’t even wait for her acknowledgement that this is okay. Instead, he immediately begins to work himself. She moves her hand aside, resting it on his thigh as she continues to scratch him, choosing to change from an up and down scratch to a small circular scratch with no particular orbit. He seems to enjoy it as he tugs on his cock, his back arching into her hand again, opening up to her.

“Your back is really sensitive huh?” she asks, finally, peeling her eyes away from his package.

He nods, his eyes shut as he tries to concentrate.

“And it feels really good?”

“Yes,” he pants.

She bites her lip, arousal joining the butterflies in her stomach. She scratches him, his shoulder blades shifting and bulging. 

“So ... if I scratch harder?”

“Harder,” he parrots, nodding. “Yes.”

She smiles. She digs her nails harder into his back, again leaving bloodless trails that turn red and angry in the wake of her touch.

He hisses, then groans, his hand pulling quickly on his cock. “Ah!” he exhales before his hips buck and his wings pop out. The force of them popping out tosses her back against the couch and sends a cloud of dander flying in the air. She coughs and tries to bat away the falling dander and trailing bits of fluff. When she lays her eyes on him, his wings are jittering and his body shudders through an orgasm. The cloud settles around them as she sits up. He pants, his back visibly rising and falling as he catches his breath.

His wings are a far cry from how she saw them on the road, or even in the kitchen. Instead of reflecting light like a mirror, they absorb it. They don’t glow like they should. Instead, they look matte and a few of them look broken and worn. It looks uncomfortable.

“Lucifer?” 

“Sorry,” he pants. He swallows his spit, attempting to soothe a suddenly dry throat. “I … they have a mind of their own sometimes.” He snaps his wings back in and turns his eyes back to his cock. She sits up and peers over his shoulder to see the evidence of his orgasm dripping down his chest and settling onto a wet spot in his lap.

She scrunches her face before letting go of a powerful sneeze. She covers her mouth and leans forward to grab a napkin off the coffee table. She wipes her mouth and nose before standing and tossing the used tissues into a waste bin by the bar.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Is your back still itching?” she asks.

He grunts, amused, and leans forward to grab a paper napkin off the coffee table.

“Yes,” he says, “but ...it seems to have calmed down for now. I imagine it has something to do with all this dander.”

He brushes the dander off his pant leg before turning his attention to the mess on his chest and lap. She watches as he cleans himself off, silently taking note of how big he is. She pauses, and her eyebrows furrow.

“Whose idea was circumcision?”

He stills, then slowly shifts his eyes to her, flabbergasted. “Pardon?”

“You’re uncircumcised,” she says pointing to his wilting dick. “Which ... why do angels need dicks?” She tilts her head, curiosity painted all over her face.

He stares at her, actually lost on what to say.

“Okay, we’ll circle back to that. Circumcision. Who thought _‘_ Hey, you know what’d be funny? If we convinced the humans to chop off the tip of their penises’.”

Lucifer stares at her with what looks like, at first glance, anger. Slowly a brightness and twinkle enters his eyes and a smile crawls onto his face. His laughter is small at first, but rolls into a genuine and hearty chuckle. She can’t help but smile in return.

“I’m serious!” she giggles.

He shakes his head and goes back to cleaning himself. He leans over to the table and grabs another napkin.

“It was Michael’s idea,” he says with amusement in his voice. “Well, if you ask any religious leader they’ll say it represents an agreement of sorts with Father. But in reality, it was Michael’s idea.”

“Why?”

Lucifer shrugs. “Why does that arsehole do anything? Suppose he didn’t really think humans would do it. That or he picked at the fear of a chief or sultan, or something similar, and convinced them it was the only right thing to do.”

“That seems mean.”

He shrugs and tucks himself back into his pants. “We weren't all ... _kind_ to humans in the beginning. Most of us weren’t too pleased with dad’s new project. Humans took away his attention and … he often makes it clear he loves you lot more than us.”

She shakes her head. “No, that can’t be-”

He balls the napkins in his hands and waves her off. “It’s alright, we’ve long made our peace with it, or at least I have. Amenadiel still struggles with it from time to time.”

Chloe places a hand on his back. He stills.

“I’m sure your dad still loves you, Lucifer … a parent’s love is …”

“What?” he says, turning to her. “ _Unconditional?_ Spare me your insights, Detective.”

She sighs and crosses her arms. He stands and moves to the bar. He throws the used tissues away and briefly washes his hands. His eyes move to a decanter of whiskey on the bartop.

“Did you, uh, want a drink?” he asks.

She smiles and shakes her head. “No uh, I should probably get home to Trixie. I just … I wanted to stop by and make sure you knew we were okay.”

He nods. “I certainly hope so, Detective. Otherwise, I’d feel like a right arse right about now. It’s unlike me to get my jollies and leave you high and dry.”

She smiles. “Thanks for the consideration but … I’m fine.”

“Right.”

He pours himself a sizable shot as she approaches the bar. When she is right next to him, he turns to her, then back to the shot.

“I wasn’t,” he begins, trying to find the words. He sets the decanter down. “I wasn’t ... _trying_ to be cryptic when I said I felt something for you.”

She silently nods to herself.

“I just … I don’t know what it means. What it means to have wings _and_ feel the way I do about you.”

She smiles to herself. “I thought you said this was all meaningless?”

“What?”

“It’s just like us mortals to want to find meaning in the meaningless. Ring a bell?”

He guffaws and nods. “I do recall something of the sort.”

“Then if this is all meaningless, why and make it mean something? Why can’t we just enjoy what we have, while we have it?”

He stares at her and nods. He tilts his head, it starts to sink in. “You’re absolutely right, Detective.”

“Mmm,” she acknowledges, her eyes flipping down to his lips. “See? You can learn something from us humans.”

He chuckles and nods. “I guess so.”

They silently stare at one another for a while before Chloe slowly leans in. He sees her movement, hesitates for a second, then leans in as well. When they kiss it is gentle, and soft. They pull away and their eyes immediately meet.

“Goodnight, Lucifer,” she says smiling.

It makes him softly smile in return. “Good night, Detective.”

\--

For days, minus small glances here and the whispered admissions of interest, they don’t go much further than a chaste – and quick – peck on the cheek. It is new territory for them both and Chloe expresses an honest trepidation for having feelings for the Devil.

Lucifer, to his own credit, is understanding. Things go well for them. She shows up at his penthouse after work and they drink and talk. Sometimes he will rub her feet and other times she will scratch his back. It ends when his wings come out, despite her insisting it doesn’t have to, but either way the small touches are comfortable.

Then, Lucifer starts to change. He becomes more annoying than usual, and more quick to anger. Chloe makes a few jokes about him being on his period that he doesn’t take kindly to. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably and grumbles to himself. He makes little unhappy noises and at first it was cute, but the longer it goes on the more it becomes downright annoying. Three days in a row he comes in to work, increasingly on edge until Chloe finally has enough. He sits at her desk, brooding and twitching.

He grunts and she slaps her pen on the table.

“What?!” she snaps. “What is your problem? You’ve been moody all morning.”

“Moody? Darling, I haven’t said a thing.”

“You’ve been grumbling and sighing. You were a complete jerk to Dan earlier when he wished you a good morning. So what is it? What’s the problem this time?”

She leans in closer to him. “Is this because we haven’t had sex yet?” she whispers.

Lucifer shakes his head. “No. Though, if you’re offering-”

She scoffs and sits back up. “Then what is it?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he sighs, his foot bouncing impatiently.

“I would if you told me. Otherwise, knock it off.”

“I’m molting,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“See?!” he scoffs. “How would you know what it’s like?”

“Hey! Don’t bite my head off, I’m just trying to figure out what is going on.”

He huffs and folds his arms.

“So … you’re molting? Like … like a snake molts?”

“More of the avian variety, darling.”

She just stares at him, utterly confused.

He sighs and uncrosses his legs before leaning on the desk, close to her. “Wings wear down over time and have to be replaced. So, they … fall out and new feathers grow in.”

“Oh,” she says. “Okay.”

He sighs and sits back. When his back hits the chair he hisses and recoils from it. “Terribly uncomfortable,” he says, crossing his legs again. “Utterly _exhausting_ process.”

She smiles and playfully frowns before reaching out and rubbing his hand. “Aww, someone’s grumpy and tired.”

He cuts his eyes to her, not at all amused by her voice change.

She chuckles at his broodiness and shakes her head. “They shouldn’t be even worn out, right?” she asks, attempting to change the mood. “You just got your wings back and you haven’t even flown yet.”

He sighs. “Yes well. When I cut them off all those years ago, I did so prior to my molt. I suppose that halted the process for the time being but since they are popped back on, well. Time moves on.”

She hums and nods. “Is there anything I can do? Something that might make you feel better?”

He turns his eyes to her, and she stops him from whatever sexual innuendo he is about to say.

“Anything _else_?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no.”

She nods and turns back to her files. “Well, one of our suspects frequents a strip club. That might cheer you up, right? Us stopping by to see if he is there?”

“Do I get a lap dance?”

She rolls her eyes. “No.”

He sighs. “Very well.” He winces as he stands, every bit of him feeling _wrong_.

\--

The day goes on as such and despite it being very apparent that he is uncomfortable and miserable, Lucifer does a much better job of hiding it. Chloe only catches him shifting uneasily in rare moments when he thinks no one is looking. She dismisses him earlier than she usually does, deciding his company was less important than his comfort. He leaves with very little complaint.

Later, when Trixie has been picked up from school and is being watched by her favorite demon babysitter, Chloe decides to pay Lucifer a visit. When she arrives at his penthouse, it is quiet and warm. Unlike the last time he was having wing issues, the air is clean and the strong scent of sandalwood and mint drifts into her nostrils as she enters. He _just_ showered.

“Lucifer?”

Immediately, she hears movement in the bathroom. She hears banging then hissing before Lucifer steps out of the bathroom, shutting the door quickly behind him.

“Detective!” he says surprised. “I … I hadn’t expected you.”

He is without everything that makes him look put together. His hair is damp, allowing his natural curls to hang freely on his head. He wears only a pair of dark grey boxer briefs that are dusted with white powder and his eyes are tired but they look at her with excitement and joy. She smiles seeing it. They didn’t sparkle like they used to, but it was so close to normal she would take it without complaint.

“Oh. I … I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she says, turning her eyes to the bathroom door.

“I was just checking to make sure you were okay but … I can come back tomorrow if-”

“No,” he says stepping forward. “I- I was simply attempting to ease the molting process. The bathroom is quite a mess at the moment.”

“Oh, is it working?”

He nods to himself. “Slightly.”

She smiles and nods. They stand in awkward silence for a bit.

“Since you’re here, did you want something to drink?” he asks, moving over to the bar. His shoulder blade locks and he shakes his arm loose as he walks.

“No, no, thank you.”

He smiles a tense smile and moves to pour himself a drink. Chloe sits on a barstool next to him and watches him pour.

“You’ll be happy to know that we have a new suspect in our case,” she says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you remember that stripper we spoke to earlier at the club? Virginia?”

Lucifer grins. “Of course. Lovely lady. Excellent breasts.”

Chloe shakes her head with a soft smile. “Apparently her alibi for the night of the murder didn’t pull through. So, we have to go back tomorrow and question her and everyone in the club. Which _means_ , we will probably spend all day tomorrow watching women get naked.”

Lucifer nods and takes a sip of his drink.

Chloe watches him, expecting him to have a much different reaction. “Naked women. Boobies,” she says, trying to catch his attention. He looks too distracted.

“Yes,” he says. “I’ve seen breasts before, Detective. I’m not a stranger to them.”

She narrows her eyes. “Okay, what is bothering you? Is it the molting thing? Has that somehow made you not like breasts now?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “My apologies, Detective. It’s just … well, they feel better when they are out.”

She shakes her head, not sure what he is talking about. He stares at her as she slowly understands.

“Oh,” she says. “Right. Well … I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Lucifer, I’ve told you several times that I don’t mind. Be yourself. You stripped nude in the middle of a pawn shop, I think I can handle-”

Two large white wings unfurl behind him and he groans in relief.

“Wings,” she huffs, surprised by them again. He really has to warn her before he just materializes giant wings like that. Her awe is temporary as she notices how different they are.

They are a far cry from how she remembers them the last time she scratched his back. They are misshapen and scraggly. Pin feathers, covered in thick keratin sheaths, poke out from a bed of loose down and angled feathers. A small plume of dander and floating pieces of down feathers rise and fall around him.

“Bloody things are messy,” he huffs, brushing the dander off his shoulder. His eyes turn down to see a thin layer of dander floating on top of his drink. He groans.

“Lucifer,” she huffs. “Oh my Go-….sh.”

He scoffs. “Yes, well you would have been correct the first time.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? They look _horrible_.”

He sighs and nods before downing another shot of whiskey. “As previously stated, it’s a miserable process. I’m tired all the time and everything hurts.”

She grins. “It sounds like you’re on your period.”

“Yes well, if I’m not careful there _will_ be blood. Lots of it.”

“What?”

He chuckles a sort of half-chuckle and shakes his head.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”

He eyeballs her and she holds out a hand. “Besides sex,” she says playfully. “Do you want me to scratch your back for you again?”

He sighs. “Even if you offered sex, I wouldn’t have the energy. You can’t imagine how exhausting of a process it is.”

“Oh.”

“Miserable in all senses,” he says.

She frowns. “That bad, huh?”

“I’m so tired, Detective,” he laments, his shoulders dropping. The wings visibly shift and lower with his shoulders. Every part of him looks sad. “No amount of sleep seems enough, and I’d rather not sleep my day away.”

She looks around and slides off the stool before grabbing his arm and leading him to the bedroom.

“Come.”

“Detective, this is a horrible time to proposition -”

“Sit,” she says as she reaches his bed. She turns and sets him down on the bed.

He sits, his wings folded behind him. She slides her shoes off, and he watches her, confused and curious. She climbs onto the bed and kneels behind him before taking his head into her hands.

“When we were married and Dan was stressed. I used to give him scalp massages. They used to help.”

She runs her hands through his hair and immediately his shoulders droop further and his head completely slacks into her hands. 

He groans, a relieved and extended moan leaving his lips,

Her hands slide through his hair and his eyes close. She leans forward to keep his head from falling too far back and bumps into a pin feather on his wing. He flinches and she backs up.

“Sorry!” 

“Darling, you could circumcise me with a rusty blade and I wouldn’t care as long as you keep doing whatever you are doing.”

“Gross,” she chuckles, her fingers sliding up around the side of his head and rubbing his temples.

He lets go a deeply satisfied sigh, his body weight leaning further against her. Feathers pushed against skin and cotton.

She smiles, knowingly. “Does that feel good?” 

“Divine,” he mumbles.

She continues to slide her hand through his hair, stopping to massage his temples every once in a while. He is silent while she plays with his hair, so silent that she stops massaging his head and leans over to see if he is still awake. He responds by opening his eyes and tilting his head up to catch her glance.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks pitifully, his eyes half-open.

She smiles and goes back to massaging his scalp. He hums content to himself. She turns her eyes to the bathroom door to see it closed, light seeping from beneath it.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”

“Hmm?” he responds half-assed. 

“With your wings.”

She can feel the instant his muscles tighten and his relaxation turns to tension. He sits there for a moment, her hands immobile in his hair.

“That won’t be necessary.” He pulls away from her and stands. 

“I don’t mean to push you,” she says, apologetically. “I just … I’m here for you if you need me.”

He nods. He shifts his shoulder blade and his right-wing extends and shakes. He extends it to stretch it out, then folds it back behind him. Halfway through the movement it locks up and refuses to close, like a door with a pencil stuck in the hinge.

“Damn things,“ he grunts, turning and digging into his wing. He sifts around a bit before yanking out a large - but worn down - feather. He investigates the spot he pulled it from to make sure it isn’t bleeding. Satisfied, he turns to her as she moves to stand from the bed.

“I can help you know. I mean, I don’t know anything about feathers, but you can show me.”

He shakes his head. “Detective …”

“Please.”

“Detective, I can’t. Touching an Angel’s wings in that manner is … it’s…”

“What?”

He sighs. “How do I explain? Uh … well, family members usually assist in preening.”

“Oh,” she says. “Right. Other angels. Okay.”

“Not that I wouldn’t want you to, otherwise,” he cautions. “But …”

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to explain, I understand.”

He nods.

“Why don’t you call Amenadiel then?” she asks.

Lucifer sighs and shakes his head. “We haven’t preened each other since before my fall and I have zero interest in that nostalgia”

He stares at the feather, twirling it in his hands. When his eyes move back to her, he looks her over for a moment before handing her the feather-like one would a single rose. Tentatively, she reaches out and grabs it. It’s large and smooth. Towards the bottom, there is a thick keratin tube that once carried blood. A few inches up, small wispy feathers turn into straight, stiff, and beautiful plumage. She feels it with her hand, a small smile coming to her face.

“It’s soft,” she says.

He smiles as he watches her run her hands up the spine, taking great interest in every quill.

“Do you miss it?” she asks before turning her eyes to him. “Heaven.”

He stares at her, his smile falling. He watches her for a moment before he sighs and turns his head to the bathroom door. “I really must finish.”

She nods. “I can’t help but … can I watch?”

He chuckles. “Ah, a voyeur? Why Detective, you never have to ask.”

She rolls her eyes as he approaches his bathroom. He swings the door open and her eyes immediately fall to the floor. It is covered in dander and small pieces of fluffy down.

“It’s a mess, I know.” He steps into the tub and sits on the edge, his back towards the mirror and his feet cast over into the basin. 

He cranes his neck towards the mirror before digging his hands into his wing. His fingers gently lift the large flight feathers like a mother stretches the hands of a newborn. He pulls them apart gently, diving in to find rogue feathers and pliable down.

She smiles and joins him next to the tub and watches as he quickly sorts through his feathers to find the offending ones. Even without knowing much about feathers, she can tell the process is fast and shoddy at best.

When he finds a pin feather, he carefully cracks the keratin sheath and drags it down the length of the feather. It pops to life as a brand-new feather, one without scraggly ends or dull coloring. Then he discards the sheath to the floor. It shatters easily.

She watches with complete fascination as he avoids the pin feathers at the end of his wings, the large ones that hum and vibrate with fresh blood. He painstakingly weaves his fingers between each feather, taking care to spend time on them. His efficiency and attention to detail is not lost on her and she briefly wonders why he doesn't devote this much energy to their job. She hears the sarcastic response he would probably have to that question in her head and smiles. He pulls out down and cracks the pieces of keratin he finds all the way up until the center of his wing. Past this point, his arms won't stretch and allow him to reach. So, instead, he stretches his wing as far as the bathroom will allow it to go and shakes it, letting loose dander and down fall out of his wing. Chloe sneezes and he eyes her apologetically. He tilts his body towards her and stretches out his left-wing, it blocks her view of the mirror but from this angle, she gets an up-close glance at what he is doing.

She watches as he sticks his hand beneath the larger feathers and plucks the small wispy feathers from beneath them. Then, he goes back towards the spine of his wing and straightens out the feather - oil suddenly glazed over his fingers. It is fascinating and it suddenly hits her how close she has gotten to him in such a short time. She had been so worried he would never open up, but now she is watching him in what felt like an intimate moment. One that had nothing to do with sex, or his devilish persona. It felt like she was watching him, _her_ Lucifer. It is a simple act and akin to brushing his hair or clipping his toenails. To her, however, it feels so much bigger than that.

“Have you flown yet?” she asks, feeling the frazzled edges of the feather she twirls in her hands.

Lucifer scoffs. “Your insistence on me using these things is a little suspect, Detective.”

Chloe shrugs. “I don’t know. Seems a shame to have wings and not use them.“

He doesn’t respond. He just tightens his jaw and plucks down from his wings a little harder. He winces as he does it, as if he had caused himself pain.

She sighs and shakes her head, fumbling with the feather in her hand. “I’m sorry. I just … you seem so sad and I feel like it will help.”

“It will only make things worse.” He turns his eyes back to the mirror, taking inventory of his progress.

His wing stretches out and Chloe tucks herself into the corner of the tub. Then, he shakes his wings, filling the air with a cloud of fine powder. Without warning, his shoulders shift and both his wings retract into his body. He stands and brushes the dander off his pants. “Wings are a bloody mess,” he groans, standing and then stepping out of the tub.

She turns her head as the dander falls. Seconds later she sneezes. Then, she sneezes again. She turns back to him to see him handing her a tissue.

“Are you done?” she asks, accepting the tissue and wiping her mouth.

“As done as I’m going to be,” he says. “I’ll have to revisit later for the blood feathers.”

“What about between your shoulder blades?”

“It will just have to stay that way Detective, I can’t reach.”

She sighs. “Lucifer … I can help.”

“It is forbidden,” he snaps at her, immediately regretting his words.

“Yeah? Well last I checked so is taking on God’s army and you didn’t have an issue with that!”

He stares at her, his eyes narrowed.

“Sorry,” she says, raising her hand in surrender. “I … I just-”

Her nose scrunches up. “I just want to-”

Her eyes close and she tilts her head back seconds before she sneezes loudly into her sleeve.

He sighs, rips another tissue from the box on the counter, and hands it to her. She takes it, itching her nose with her sleeve. 

“Detective, preening is … It isn’t for … it isn’t to be taken lightly.”

She nods and wipes her nose. When she looks up he holds his hand out for her. She looks at him oddly before understanding what he wants and placing the tissues in his hand. He moves to throw them away and wash his hands. She is silent and turns her eyes to the feather in her hand. Her eyes cast past the feather to the floor filled with soft down feathers and dander. “Can I at least help with this?” she asks.

He turns to the pile on the floor and sighs. “If you must. I’ll gather the down for you.”

Lucifer manages to wrangle all the loose down into a trash bag while Chloe carefully sweeps up the loose keratin and dander on the floor. When they are done the bathroom is relatively clean and Lucifer lays on the bed. He groans in relief as he hits the mattress.

Chloe turns off the light in the bathroom and approaches him. “All done.”

He hums in response, already half asleep. The bed jostles under the added weight of her body when climbs in next to him, noting how he lays on his back. She wakes him slightly as she slides under his arm and rests a hand on his chest. “I have to go home to Trixie but … I don’t mind staying with you a little longer.”

He grins and pulls his other arm over, holding her close. They lay there silently holding each other, their eyes closed.

“I feel like I should be doing more to help you,” she whispers.

He smiles. “Having you here is help enough, Detective.”

She smiles and looks down to her hand rubbing circles on his chest. He hums under it, taking pleasure in her touches.

She smiles. “You like that?” she asks.

He nods. “It’s soothing.”

Her smile falls. He seemed like he needed more soothing lately. She continues to rub his chest, her hands moving slightly down to his stomach before crossing back up.

He hums, pleased. She lays there until he falls asleep. Then, she carefully pulls herself out of his arms, turns off all the lights, and takes care to lock the elevator on her way out.

\--

The next day, Chloe is talking to her eighth stripper of the day and trying very hard not to stare directly into the spinning pink tassels attached to the woman’s nipples. She and Lucifer sit in a lounge across from the main stage. Here the purple lights throb to the sound of music and it’s hard to get a feel of the patrons when the lights are so low.

“Mm,” Chloe nods, focusing on the woman’s eyes. “So, you were here all night then? Can anybody verify your alibi?”

“We have security cameras,” the woman says. “They’ll show you I was here.”

Chloe nods and checks the woman off her list. “Do you want to ask a quest-” She turns to Lucifer and catches him rubbing his back against the seat, not at all paying attention to the interview. She turns back to the woman. “Thank you.”

The woman rolls her eyes and stands before leaving.

Chloe turns back to Lucifer, he isn’t even watching the stripper walk away. Instead, he is mumbling to himself and rubbing his back against the seat. He tries hard to scratch between his shoulder blades. “Lucifer, how are you holding up?”

He grunts and turns to her. “Bloody things itch like hell,” he says. “I imagine this is what genital warts feel like.”

She narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “Well,” she huffs, turning to the club and looking around. “We’ve questioned about everyone we can today.”

“That means we are at the paperwork portion of the evening, correct?”

She nods and hums, trying to think of what she missed.

“Excellent,” he says standing, already on his way towards the door. “I need to go back to my penthouse.”

“Oh! Uh …” she says as she stands and chases after him. “We don’t have to do paperwork at the station.”

They walk through the front door, his long legs already a few steps away from her car.

“We can do It anywhere. I could even do it from the penthouse if I needed to.”

“Yes, yes, very well. Get in the car, please,” he says opening the door and stepping in.

Thirty minutes and a grumbling archangel later, the penthouse elevator doors open, and Lucifer steps through. He already has his jacket off and tosses it on top of the bar. Then comes the vest, then the shirt. The second his shirt is off, his wings pop out and he audibly sighs. She chuckles at him, moving towards the coffee table to set her files down.

“Yes, my situation is funny.”

“Oh, stop, you big baby.”

He grunts and pours himself a drink. He brings the glass up to his lips and the elevator doors immediately open. They both turn to it, Lucifer’s wings disappearing quickly.

Amenadiel steps out and sighs. “Did you not see me sitting at the bar downstairs?”

Lucifer grunts and tosses back the drink. “I did, I was hoping you wouldn’t see us.”

“You’re still mad at me.”

Lucifer grunts and sets his glass down. “Gee, why would I be mad? You interfered in the Detective's life and I’m pretty sure you had something to do with me getting my wings back.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “Was it you who hit me?” he asks, “Who left me in the desert?”

“No! Luci, I would never do that.”

Lucifer grunts and slides off his shoes.

“What are you doing?” Amenadiel asks.

“Getting comfortable, what does it look like?”

Chloe turns to them, sudden thought in her head.

“Hey,” she says standing up. “You’re Lucifer’s brother, right? Another angel?”

Amenadiel narrows his eyes and turns to Lucifer. “She knows?”

Lucifer nods. “She’s always known, brother, but the believing thing … that’s new.”

He smiles and turns to her, putting on all the strength and pride of an angel. “Yes. I am.”

“So, you can preen him, right?”

She can visibly see the record skip in Amenadiel’s eyes.

Lucifer whips around to Chloe.

“Pardon?” they both say.

“Can you preen him? He won’t let me, so-”

“Detective!” Lucifer says, upset at the topic.

“You need preening?” Amenadiel asks, his head tilting.

“He’s molting.”

“ _Bloody_... everyone out!” Lucifer screams.

Amenadiel nods and crosses his arms. “Yup, that’s definitely molting behavior.”

“Go on, then!” Lucifer yells, waving his arms towards the elevator.

“Lucifer, just let him help you-” she begs.

“No! I can do it by myself.”

“You can’t,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “I watched you last night and you didn’t do it right.”

“How would _you_ know?”

“Let me see,” Amenadiel interjects.

“No! Out! Both of you. I can do it myself!”

“Samael,” Amenadiel says, his voice deep and with a vibrato she doesn’t think she’s heard before. It makes her dizzy. The name sounds normal, but the tone sounds unearthly.

Lucifer’s wings pop out of their own accord, followed again by a cloud of dander. She can tell by how surprised he is to see them that it is not his doing. It’s a knee jerk reaction, like grimacing when eating something sour.

Amenadiel takes note of Lucifer’s wings, of how disarrayed they are. The ends looks recently touched, but the further towards his body they get, the more unkempt they become. Here, spiky pin feathers poke out from wispy down.

Lucifer shifts his shoulders and pops the wings back in, anger in his voice. “Do _not_ use that tone with me,” he snarls.

“How did you survive so long without being preened?” Amenadiel asks.

“I’m not some doll, some _toy_ ,” Lucifer growls. “I can do it on my own.”

Amenadiel sighs and shakes his head. “Lucifer, it’s okay to ask for help.”

Lucifer scoffs and turns to the bar to pour himself another drink.

“Come,” Amenadiel says, trying to move Lucifer over to the couch.

Chloe immediately pops up off the sofa and moves her files out of the way.

“No,” Lucifer says, snapping his arm out of Amenadiel’s grasp.

Amenadiel lowers his head and narrows his eyes. “Samael,” he demands. Again he uses that tone, the one that feels like the entire penthouse is vibrating around her.

Lucifer’s wings obey and pop out, stretched in full flight mode. They slap the decanter on the bar on their arc up, but he manages to turn in time to catch it before it falls. The empty glass next to it is not as lucky, however, and crashes to the ground behind the bar. It splinters into small shards.

When he is certain the decanter is steady on the bar again, he retracts his wings into his body and turns with anger in his eyes. “Enough!” he booms. “You will not speak to me that way!”

“Luci, I’m just trying to –”

“I do not need you! I can do it on my own!”

“Would you stop being a baby?!” Chloe yells.

Amenadiel and Lucifer pause and turn to her.

“Sit down and let your brother preen you - you fucking _jackass_.”

Amenadiel and Lucifer just stare at her, unsure of how to take her in this moment. Lucifer pushes his lips together tightly, biting back his words.

“Now,” she demands, holding her ground.

He stands in his place, looking at her with great displeasure. She folds her arms and matches his look. He’s the devil, she knows he’s the devil, but she can’t think of that right now. Right now, he is just Lucifer and Lucifer is being an _absolute_ twat.

“I can’t have you messing up any more interviews because you keep scratching yourself. So _sit_.”

He continues to stare at her, unhappy. She returns his glare with equal force. Just when she thinks she might be in over her head, Lucifer grunts and walks towards the couch. “I’m only doing this because I can’t stand the itching anymore.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and goes to clean up the glass behind the bar. She needed to move around and focus on something other than the adrenaline coursing through her body.

Amenadiel has to hold back a smile. “You made Chloe curse,” he chuckles.

“Shove it,” Lucifer replies.

Lucifer sits on the floor in front of the couch and Amenadiel comes behind him. He sits on the couch, his legs spread wide.

“Okay,” Amenadiel says, ready for the wings to come back out.

Lucifer sits there for a moment. Chloe pops her head up from behind the bar when she hears silence. She doesn’t have to think hard to imagine steam coming from his ears.

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, a warning in her tone.

He huffs and his wings pop out.

Amenadiel grins widely and shakes his head. He looks around Lucifer’s wings for a moment and sighs.

“Luci, these are bad,” he says.

“I tried to cut the bloody things off.”

Amenadiel touches Lucifer’s wings with a familiar tenderness. He slides his fingers between quickly and methodically. He pulls out small pieces of down, cracks loose keratin, and smooths out feathers with oil from the oil glands. It starts out tense, uncomfortable for Lucifer. But the more it goes on, the more relaxed he becomes until he is content, and enjoying it.

Fifteen minutes later, Chloe sits with her legs draped across a nearby chair. On the floor around Lucifer and Amenadiel lay chunky bits of fresh down and shards of keratin. Amenadiel is on the final section of Lucifer’s right-wing and Lucifer is singing to himself. Amenadiel listens, a small and wistful smile on his face.

“ _Tu scis quantum te amo? Ego movere orbis terrarum pro te_ ,” he sings.

Chloe looks up as he sings, taking her out of the text chain with her daughter. It is the most relaxed she’s seen him since his kidnapping. Since he woke up with wings. He sounds … _free_.

She listens for a while and furrows her eyebrows.

“ _Sicut est videre in luce stellarum in oculis vestris_ ,” Lucifer continues.

“What is that song?” she asks.

Lucifer stops singing and turns to her.

“It’s beautiful,” she adds.

He nods. “Our mother used to sing it to us,” he says, his eyes going distant.

Amenadiel nods. “All angels are different. We all molt in different cycles. Some molt often, others rarely. When mother had the yearning in her, she would help us preen.”

“She would sing to us while she did it,” Lucifer remembers, sadness in his eyes.

Amenadiel starts to chuckle and Lucifer turns around to him.

“What?” he asks.

“Do you remember-” Amenadiel says, his laughter getting louder. “Do you remember when Raphael had that rebellious streak?”

Lucifer guffaws and nods. “Rebellious? _Please._ We all know there’s only one rebellion that mattered.”

Lucifer turns to Chloe and winks. She tilts her head, liking how carefree he is. How he is able to joke about something that clearly hurt him. It’s like she has a slight glimpse of how fun he might have been, before everything got so serious.

“He wouldn’t let anyone preen him for a century!” Amenadiel manages to get out from between fits of laughter.

Lucifer chortles, his wings visibly shaking through his chuckling.

“When Mother was finally able to lay hands on him, he practically fell asleep in her arms!”

Lucifer slaps his knee, grinning and laughing easily. Slowly, their laughter dies down and the silence left behind is joyous and comfortable.

Chloe sits up, a small smile on her face. “So why is it that only family members can preen you?” she asks, curious.

Amenadiel shakes his head. “Not just family members. Bonded-”

Lucifer elbows him and Amenadiel turns his head to Lucifer. They lock eyes.

“Oh,” Amenadiel says.

Chloe sits up further. “Oh?”

Lucifer moves to stand. Amenadiel puts his hands on Lucifer’s shoulder and pulls him back down. “I’m not done.”

Lucifer sighs, about to get caught in a conversation he did not intend to have.

“Amenadiel?” she says, not letting this go.

Lucifer shuts his eyes and shakes his head, incredibly reluctant to speak. But if anyone has to tell her, he supposes it should be from him. “Preening an angel is a promise to Father,” Lucifer offers.

Her eyes turn to him. He stares forward as he speaks, his eyes locked onto the coffee table in front of him. “It’s a promise that you would take care of his children as family or … as … as a –”

“We call them bonded pairs,” Amenadiel offers. “There is no mortal word for it, but …it is a commitment.”

Chloe slumps in her chair. “Oh,” she says. “Like marriage?”

Amenadiel nods. “Akin to that, yes. But it doesn’t always have to be lifelong. It could be short term, but the idea is that you would look after one another, in every manner. Bonded.”

“And it doesn’t have to be romantic,” Lucifer adds in. “But … there is an implication.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Chloe asks.

“Because I … I don’t currently and would like to never view you as a sibling. And a lifelong commitment is out of the question.”

“Wha-” she is about to say, anger and hurt pulling at her words.

“Making a promise to dad is …,” Lucifer continues. “You deserve more. Someone free, someone not betrothed to the throne.”

All the anger and offense is sucked right out of her. She pauses, staring at him as he looks away. Amenadiel continues to work diligently on Lucifer’s wing, pulling little down feathers from the spot between his shoulder blades.

 _I was going to tell you everything,_ she remembers him saying, _but I’ve changed._

She stares at him, her gaze so full of understanding. Of knowing what the devil might want, or need.

“And what do you deserve, Lucifer?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I've no doubt if I tried to cut them off again they'd just grow back,” he says annoyed. “I’m practically on standby for orders.”

“That’s enough for now,” he says with a smile, this conversation getting awkward. He slides through the small space between the couch and Lucifer’s feathers and steps over the mess on the floor before brushing the dander off his pants.

“I’m going to uh … go,” he says, his eyes flipping back and forth between Lucifer and Chloe.

“If you need anything…” Amenadiel says, his words trailing off.

“Thank you, brother,” Lucifer says, turning to him, sincerity in his eyes. “They feel much better.”

Amenadiel nods and presses the elevator button.

Lucifer stands and shakes his wings. For the first time in too long to count, nothing comes out. They feel light, less itchy.

Chloe’s eyes are plastered to the floor, thinking. The elevator doors open, Amenadiel steps in, and then they close behind him. Chloe begins to nervously fiddle with her fingers.

“So ...” Chloe says, her voice soft. “You don’t think … you don’t want commitment?”

He huffs. “Darling, I- not like that. With Dad deciding? No, you’ll interact enough with him when … no. I do not want that for you.”

She nods, a little hurt but kicking herself for wanting more. She had practically given him free reign under the stupid notion that letting him be himself would win her any favor. That pretending like he needed more time to get used to the idea of him and her would make him see it. But maybe it wasn’t him that needed more time, maybe it was her. And now _they_ were here. Why is she surprised to find he doesn’t know what he wants?

“Okay,” she says, trying to hide the quiver in her voice, “Uhm …”

She lowers her head, trying to will the tears back in. “I’m just going to say it,” she says, shaking her head. “Lucifer I …”

She turns her head to him, the water in her eyes on full display. It visibly unsettles him.

“I …what _are_ we? One day I think we’re starting something, on our way to … to being something and the next it's very clear we’re _just_ partners. Then I think we’ve made headway because you tell me who you are and now- _now_ you’re telling me you don’t see a future for us. I- how am I supposed to take that?”

He sighs and folds his wings back into his body. He approaches the chair she sits in and lowers himself on the armrest. “To be clear,” he says. “if I were to bond with anyone, it would be you.”

She shakes her head and stands, moving away from him.

“That’s not good enough,” she says, crossing her arms. “Telling me you _could_ love me is not the same as saying you do. Telling me you _could_ see us together is not the same as telling me you want to. I’m not … I’m not waiting for you anymore.”

He stares at her, surprised.

“Not just sex, not just physicality. Tell me now, do you want me?”

He blinks, stunned by the directness of her approach. “I … Detective, I do.”

“Then _what_ are we doing?”

He shakes his head, lowering it in defeat. “I was changed.”

“You got your wings back, so what? That doesn’t change _who_ you are. I think if I can get over the fact that you’re the _literal_ devil, we will be fine.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. The wings make me his servant.”

She approaches him. “No, they don’t,” she says softly.

“Yes, they do!” he counters, standing angrily. “Detective, he made me an angel again. Angels bow to his will and do as he pleases.”

“You’re the devil!” she screams louder, not backing down. It forces him to pause.

“You should know more than anyone that it isn’t about what he gives you. It’s about what you _choose_ to do with it. Choice. Remember?”

Lucifer scoffs, “I assure you I will _not_ be doing anything with my wings.”

She nods. “And isn’t that okay? Even if you were told to do something, you still have the choice to _not_ do it. Or do the wings … _compel_ you to do things you don’t want?”

He visibly stills, the gears kicking up smoke behind his eyes. He stares at her, his eyes narrowing the more he thinks. She watches him roll it around in his head. When he doesn’t respond, she asks again.

“Do they?” she asks. “Do they compel you to do things you don’t want to?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He looks shocked, confused by that question.

“So, having them or not having them doesn’t really change your ability to decide. To choose. If anything, it gives you more options, right? Before, you had no choice but to not fly. Now, you can choose to fly or not to fly.”

He stares at her, a wild and bewildered look on his face.

“Right?” she asks. 

Then there is that feeling again, the one that crawls up her arm and leaves goosebumps in its wake. He looks at her, an unreadable expression on his face. He is taller and older, much older than her. Beneath his glance, she feels small. Small but … safe. 

“Great,” she says clearing her throat. “You’re going to tell me I said something stupid, right? That I don’t understand or some other thing to keep me at bay. Right?”

He doesn’t respond, he just stares at her as if she were the only being in the universe. It makes her nervous.

“Lucifer?”

His eyes go incredibly dark and she feels the weight of his glance sitting on her chest. The inkling of fear climbs into the back of her mind and she struggles to tamper it down. It is just about to boil over when his eyes flip down to her lips then back to her eyes. The movement is minor and quick, but she sees it. Then the tension changes and she recognizes it for what it is. She didn’t say something stupid, she said something that makes him want to _kiss_ her.

“No,” he finally answers, a small smile appearing on his face. There is a twinkle in his eyes, one she hasn’t seen for so long. The mere sight of it takes her breath away.

He steps closer and she doesn’t move, her eyes tearing up.

“I believe you said exactly what I needed to hear.”

She nods and clears her throat, jitters in her stomach, and arousal starting to bloom between her legs. “Good,” she says, clearing her throat again. The dullness in his eyes disappears and gives way to a lively sparkle. It shimmers as his smile grows wider and it is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. It is him. The man he had left in the desert.

She watches him as he gets closer and closer. She relaxes her arms at her side, her body subconsciously opening for him. Then she watches his face get closer and her head tilts as their lips touch. It is soft and tentative but filled with words and feelings and prayers. When she pulls away, she stares into his eyes, asking – perhaps even giving – permission.

“Chloe,” he says, his eyes so incredibly deep and his expression so incredibly soft. She leans in and kisses him again. 


	9. Promise Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter, sorry but not sorry. Thanks again for taking the time to read this pic and I hope you like the ending!

\---

Outside, the sound of wind and the sporadic honking of horns fills the night air. Inside the penthouse, there is only the sound of shuffling clothing coupled with heavy breathing and light moans. In his living room, Lucifer’s lips trail down the side of Chloe’s neck, his large hands travel down her back before sliding into the back pockets of her jeans. She holds onto his biceps, feeling them bulge beneath her hands as he pulls her closer. His mouth tucks between her shoulder and neck, sucking bruises onto the skin there. She hums in response and scrapes her nails down his naked torso.

It feels like she had spent so long looking and not touching that she wanted to do more than touch. She wanted to carve her name into his skin and lick the freckles off his chest.

He sucks on her neck, enjoying the taste of her far more than he should. Despite being used to the activity, he aches for something of hers that he can’t yet describe. The warmth of a body against his and the erection it inspires is familiar, but this body is different. Her soft hums fill him with an entirely different feeling. The heat of her body feels like he is running his hand across a live wire, and the small, breathy moans it elicits feels like she is tugging on his very being. Then there is the thumping in his chest, that too is different. The scent of her hair mixed with the clean musk of her body after a long day is dizzying. It drowns him, and he happily suffocates against the overwhelming urge to pull her close and just hold her.

Her hands meet his belt buckle and tug on them. Slowly, he pulls his lips away from her skin, eliciting a slight pop as he releases the suction on her collarbone. He lifts his head up, his stare coming to match her own. This is different too. The look she is giving him is lust, unmistakably so, but there is something else there that calls to him. She pulls on his belt buckle, leading him back towards the steps of his bedroom. He follows, entranced by that look in her eyes. It is whole and warm. It promises to give him wholeness and warmth when all he has known is how it feels to be empty.

So, they walk. They take easy but small steps past the downy feathers on the floor, up the short steps to his bedroom, and walk directly to his bed. The back of her calves hit the mattress, and she crawls onto his silk sheets, her eyes never leaving his. Lucifer is locked onto her, watching with a focus he’s never had. Her stare is so filled with trust and love that he has no choice but to follow her. No choice but to climb over her, his shadow eclipsing her like the moon does the sun. Her eyes are the night sky, and he is a comet, recklessly but readily falling through it.

On fire, but willingly burning.

Chloe pulls him over her, sliding him between her legs like he belongs there. Like they had been made for him to lay between. Like he is home.

_I want to go home._

Then, they kiss again, their kiss deepening with each passing second. He grinds himself against her, a familiar ache developing in the core of his gut. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with her in his arms, but this … _this_ could not wait any longer. _She_ could not wait any longer.

“Lucifer,” she moans, his hands sliding down the side of her body and curving around her thigh. He pulls her leg onto him, wrapping it around his body. It gives him a better angle to rub against and soon, between their kisses and wandering hands, they are both panting. His hand slips between them and he unbuttons her jeans with a well-practiced flick of his thumb. Even the sound of her zipper doesn’t draw her attention away from his eyes. They sing songs between them, but their lips utter no words. The thumping in his chest are the drums, and her soft hums of approval is the melody. He leans off of her, just enough to sink his fingers beneath her waistband and tug down. She lifts her hips off the bed, helping ease the movement. Slowly, dark denim gives way to soft, creamy thighs. His eyes never leave hers, watching her for any sign of regret or questioning. Instead of uncertainty, however, he finds her stare is steady and absolute. When the fabric reaches her ankles, she helps him kick it off. He discards it somewhere behind him, unsure of where it lands as his eyes never leave her; she is too beautiful to look away. Chloe pulls him back in, and again, he lays between her legs. The heat here is familiar but different. Lucifer isn’t eager to plant his face between her thighs, quickly disappearing into lust and sin. Instead, his touch lingers as he slowly draws his hands up the side of her naked thigh. He delicately traces a path, like a blind sculptor feeling the curves of marble beneath his fingers, committing every dimple and mark to memory.

She holds his face onto hers, kissing him and taking pleasure in his touch. Again, it is a kiss he is not familiar with. There is passion, but it isn’t carnal. It is deep but doesn’t demand urgency. It is soft but doesn’t leave his lips questioning whether or not they had been touched. It is strange, but he wants more. She pulls away from him, her eyes locking him into a stare again. He watches her with such reverence, like she is the only being in the universe.

“Morningstar,” she coos, her thumb softly circling his lips. She looks at him with awe and love, and it fills him with a fire he hasn’t had in such a long time. Not since before the fall of Rome, or the Egyptian Pyramids. Not since before the garden. Not since the stars and the sun and the earth. 

A small smile curves onto his face and he leans down on his elbows, holding his body just barely off of her. He feels the heat between her legs grow like the promising embers of a soon-to-be campfire. He slowly gyrates against her, stoking the fire with well-placed thrusts and pressure. Her hand slides up the side of his face and into his hair. She cards her hand through it lovingly, her eyes slowly moving upwards as he tilts into her touch. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“Mm,” he hums. “You’re about to be so much happier.” He leans in, his lips going back to the side of her neck, then back to the developing bruise by her collarbone. He grinds against her harder, so she can feel just what she does to him.

She moans in approval, her arms sliding down to hold onto his waist as he grinds into her. “You deserve it,” she breathily says, her head tilting back.

Lucifer stills for a few seconds before he lifts his head out of the crook of her neck, surprise in his eyes. She rolls her hips against his, getting into the movement of their bodies. She sighs, pleased, before her eyes roll up to see him staring at her with a dumbfounded look in his eyes. Her hand comes up to cup the side of his face.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, “such a handsome devil.” She leans in and kisses him, her kiss again filled with so much want and desire, but very little of it is carnal. Very little of it is about what he could do for her, provide for her. It isn’t about sex or money or any material need.

Instead, it’s just about _him_ . Chloe is kissing him because she _wants_ to. Because she ...

Suddenly he can’t breathe, a steady building pressure in his chest. He blinks, unsure of what this feeling is.

She pulls his body close to hers. Her legs wrap around his waist, and she bites her lip. He chokes, trying to squash the rising urge within him to fall apart. He fails utterly and buries his head between her neck and shoulder. He chokes back tears, and she continues to grind against him. The smile his closeness elicits falls into worry when the assumed sounds of pleasure clearly become the sound of weeping. Lucifer is weeping.

“Lucifer?” she asks, pushing on his shoulder to see his face. He doesn’t move, so she pushes on his shoulder harder. He reluctantly pulls his head out of the proverbial sand.

“What’s wrong?”

He lifts his head up, his head shaking and tears falling from his eyes. “Nothing,” he says, wiping his tears and trying to pull himself back into some semblance of normal. But his normal was never normal. It was only ever coping.

“Then why are you crying?” she asks, arousal taking a backseat to her worry. 

He shakes his head. “I … I just - I don’t know. I promise I don’t normally cry during sex.”

She stills before the worry fades off her face and is replaced by a soft, understanding smile.

“You just … I just … I don’t know.”

“Did I make you feel good?” she asks, wiping his tears.

He chuckles and nods. “I believe my erection can attest to the answer being yes.”

She grins and shakes her head, wiping the last tear away from his eyes.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Not there …” Her hand trails down his face before she pushes it on to his bare chest, right above his heart. “… Here.”

He stares at her. It’s no doubt that she can see the hurt and uncertainty in his eyes because her smile falls from understanding to what looks an awful lot like pity. It doesn’t feel like pity, though. It feels knowing and …safe.

“Oh, Lucifer,” she says, seeing him on the verge of crying again. “You make me feel good too.”

He tucks his head back into the crevice between her neck and shoulder. They hold each other in this position for a while and she plants kisses on his shoulders. She starts to rub his back for comfort, but it does more than comfort him. His body shivers beneath her touch, his hips softly pumping against her. He lifts his head up, and cautiously meets her eyes. Her stare is blank, without a smile or frown, but so whole that he seeks it out. 

“Show me,” he says, the strength in his voice wavering. She stares into his eyes, prepared to ask the question, but suddenly she knows the answer. She smiles and nods. Without taking her eyes off of him, her hands slide between their bodies, and she unbuckles his belt. He peeps down to watch as she quickly unzips his pants. Then they lock eyes again. Her eyes flip back and forth between his, watching every tiny move he makes. Meanwhile, his eyes fall down to the bruise he kissed onto her neck.

When he feels her hands wrap around his cock, he instantly pumps his hips. She strokes him, rejuvenating his erection with each pull. His eyelids lower, and as he freely gives in to the pleasure, she watches the way his face contorts. She brings her hand up and licks her palm before going back to gently tugging on him. His shoulders relax over her, and he softly hums. He leans down and begins to kiss her neck, but she pushes him away, needing to see what she is doing. With her other hand, she reaches down, and he watches as she moves her underwear aside. She rubs his cock through her lips, getting him wet with her moisture before positioning him at her entrance. He leans forward, pushing into her slowly. It takes a few small thrusts and some repositioning before he is partially inside her. Then, a few more thrusts cover himself with her juices until he is fully seated deep within her. She moans as he slides into her and brings her hands up to wrap around his pelvis again.

He starts out slow and cautiously, pistoning in and out of her, his eyes never leaving hers. They watch each other, their bodies moving to a familiar rhythm. It starts out tenuous, both unsure how the other might react. Then, feeling how wet Chloe is getting, Lucifer thrusts his hips faster and sinks himself deeper into her. She releases her hold on him, just enough that he can rotate his hips into her with each thrust. She begins to pant, small moans coming from her every few seconds. They continue to stare at each other, their eyes never straying to watch the action between their legs. It was secondary to whatever words they weren’t speaking between them. She tries to keep her eyes open, but her lids keep wanting to close. The feeling overwhelms her eventually and she tosses her head back. She moans and tightens her hold on him with her legs. He chokes again, still trying to squash this growing feeling in his chest. Having sex for the first time in weeks, coupled with feeling so unequivocally loved, is overwhelming. He chokes back tears again and immediately lowers himself onto her, sticking his head into the crook of her neck. He pants, his breathing sporadic and interrupted by the sound of him attempting to hide it away, the feeling that he wants to cry. He is grieving, and for the first time in eons, he feels _welcome_ to grieve. He hadn’t known how being unknown, being cast away like refuse, had weighed heavily on him. Suddenly that weight had been lifted. He hadn’t known how freeing it would feel, how … cathartic it would be. He chokes on his tears again. That is when he feels her hand come up the back of his head, sliding her fingers through his hair.

“It’s okay,” she pants.

But it’s not okay. It’s not okay that he had spent so long telling her what a great lover he was, and here he was weeping like a virgin. He tries to focus on getting himself deeper. He tries to focus on how warm and utterly _divine_ her pussy feels. He tries to focus on being something other than an absolute mess for her.

“Give me all of you,” she pants into his ear. He bucks harder into her, and she grips onto his hair, the pain a welcome distraction from the feeling in his chest. The one that threatens to swallow him whole.

He thrusts harder, shaking the bed beneath them and eliciting pleasurable cries from her. Their bodies lock into a smooth rhythm of skin against skin. She moans loudly into his ear and two giant white wings appear behind him. Shock falls over his face, but she can’t see him, and he can’t see her reaction.

She moans into his ear. “ _All_ of you,” she reassures before he has time to react. Her hands slide up from his pelvis to his lower back, pulling him into her.

They are close, so close he has zero room to thrust into her and instead grinds, their bodies a mish-mash of pulsating flesh. He continues short pumps, taking note of how much wetter she is getting. He rocks himself towards a quickly approaching orgasm.

His wings fold back, then slowly arc around him, cocooning them in a white and feathered wall.

Outside of this wall, their legs are just tightly intertwined limbs that wrap around each other like earbuds in a pocket. Inside this wall, however, it is different. It feels private and safe. _Holy_.

She bites down on his shoulder as he fucks her, making sure to push hard at the apex of his grind, holding a pressure into her that makes her moan and whimper. His naked torso slides against her cotton shirt. She hadn’t even gotten fully naked, but it didn’t matter. This moment was far too perfect to ruin it with nudity. She shuts her eyes, her face contorting as he stretches her in ways she has no doubt been a stranger to. His hand comes down, and he grabs onto her hips, his hold strong. He pulls himself just far enough that he can thrust his hips, slamming his cock into her. She cries out and wraps her arms around his back, sliding them between the soft decorative feathers there. Her eyes open, and she gets an eyeful of the angel inside of her. He releases a strangled grunt. She locks her eyes onto him again, and they stare at one another. She can tell he is close and holding on for her.

“Yes,” she moans breathily as she nods, giving him permission.

He groans, his face contorting as he tries to hold back.

“Do it. Let go,” she pants.

His hands grip into her flesh, holding on tightly enough that he feels he might break her, but she doesn’t protest. He groans, a deep satisfied grunt and snaps his hips forward, each thrust releasing hot cum into her. She relaxes into it, seemingly taking pleasure in the heat that pools into her body. He fucks her through his orgasm until his pinpointed thrusts turn into a soft grind. Eventually, he stills. She softly kisses him on his shoulder. Her hands drag up the sides of his body, and she feels him tremble beneath her touch. They lay there for a long time, just enjoying the closeness. His wings fluff up, creating a safe, warm bubble that they both take comfort in.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head up to her to find her smiling softly. He kisses her, and she reciprocates.

“Again?” he asks, insecurity in his eyes.

She smiles. “We don’t have to rush,” she says, her fingers trailing circles around his lips, “part of the appeal is being close. Just … spending time with each other.”

“But … you didn’t have an orgasm.”

She smiles. “Not this time, maybe next time?”

“But-”

She places a finger on his lips, shushing him. “Just having you close is enough, Lucifer. _You_ are enough.”

He leans in and kisses her again. It isn’t soft or gentle. Instead, it is hard and needy. She smiles into it, knowing what it means. She wants to reply with a _you’re welcome_ but even she is aware that might be too much for him right now.

“This won’t do,” he says clearing his throat and blinking out the haze in his eyes. He lifts his body off of her, taking his cocoon of feathers with him. It leaves her cold, and her nipples visibly harden beneath the thin t-shirt.

“We tried it your way,” he says, retracting his wings back into his body. “Now, let’s try my way.”

She smiles. “Lucifer you don’t have to-”

Without warning, he yanks her legs close to him, and she yelps.

\---

The moon is already high in the night sky when the penthouse is finally quiet. Lucifer and Chloe lay in his bed, curled up into one another beneath thick gold sheets. His arms wrap across her body and pull the silk sheets higher. She smiles and shifts against him, her breathing soft and steady. There is love behind his eyes as he watches her sleep. Eventually, he slides his arm from beneath her until her head lays against the pillow. She snuggles into the warmth he leaves and hums before going still, deep in the throes of a rejuvenating sleep.

He walks towards his bar, completely nude, and pours himself a drink. The mirror in front of the bar catches his attention and for the first time in what feels like a long time, he is at peace with what he sees. He throws back the shot of whiskey and hisses at the burn. It warms his chest as it goes down, but it doesn’t hit the same, his body already warm and relaxed. He looks back up in the mirror and pauses as something catches his attention in the reflection. Slowly, he turns around to see an owl perched on the banister of his balcony. His eyes narrow and he tilts his head, watching. The owl rotates its head slightly and tilts it in response. They stare at one another for a while before the owl extends its neck and hoots. Well, it seems like a hoot. Lucifer can’t really hear from inside. He sets the glass on the bar and walks towards the balcony doors. The owl hoots again as Lucifer reaches out and slides the door open. It blinks, cranes its neck, then hoots again.

 _Who?_

Lucifer narrows his eyes and steps onto the balcony. The owl doesn’t seem phased or afraid of his presence. Instead, it rotates its head to look around, looks back at Lucifer, and blinks. They watch each other for a moment before Lucifer sighs. He walks forward and leans against the railing. Here he listens to the distant honking of cars coupled with the gentle breeze that flows across the balcony. A sudden burst of wind hits his face, and he instantly closes his eyes and leans into it. When it stops, his eyes slowly open to find the owl directly staring at him.

 _Who?_ It hoots again. It is loud, and Lucifer turns, walks a few steps past the living room window and peeps into his bedroom. Chloe still sleeps soundly beneath the warm covers, her golden hair draped partly over her face.

 _Who?_ The owl hoots again.

“Shh!” he whisper-yells, turning to it. “Will you piss off?!”

The owl looks at him, cranes its neck, and hoots louder.

_Who?!_

Lucifer runs to the owl and shoes it off the balcony. It spreads its wings, jumps and takes flight. He watches it fly away just as the wind picks up again. He closes his eyes, tilting into it. When the wind dies down and his eyes open, there is a millennium of longing there.

 _Who?_ he hears in the distance. He watches as the owl flies farther and farther away. His eyes slowly drop down to the balcony’s edge, thinking. He turns and looks back towards a sleeping Chloe.

_Who do you want to be?_

_I don’t know, but I imagine him to be free._

_Flying is freedom._

When he turns back to the city, he imagines what it would feel like to see it from a different angle. It fills him with so much want that he rolls his shoulders and allows his wings to pop out proudly. They stretch to their full span and sit steady on his back, like heavy scaffolding behind him. His knees slowly bend, and he flaps his wings once. They easily lift him off the ground and he flaps again, carrying him higher and higher until he is well above LUX. What starts as a stiff, unsure movement turns into confident flaps as he climbs higher. When he is high above the city, able to see it for miles and miles on end, he stops climbing.

Los Angeles from above is more alive and beautiful than he could have ever imagined. He hovers there, his wings flapping behind him with zero thought put into them. They move like the inhales of his breath, something he does without truly knowing. He exhales through his nose, in awe at how … _whole_ he feels. Then, he shuts his eyes and tucks his wings close to his body. Without flapping, he quickly begins to descend. He dives through the air like a swimmer into water. The wind flies past his face, and he closes his eyes, relaxed by the freefall. He spins, twisting his body with flair before his wings sprawl out and catch him, stopping his descent. He grins, then laughs at the feeling. At freedom.

He turns his eyes back to the city, it is closer now, but he can still see for miles. Tears come to his eyes as he laughs, the weight of it all shedding from him. Then, he turns, and his wings flap as he climbs again.

\--

Lucifer, windswept and content, shivers as he climbs his long body back into bed beside Chloe. His cold feet touch her, and it pulls her out of her sleep. 

“Wha-” she grumbles as he slides his arms around her. Her hand extends to touch his chest, feeling it as though she had never felt it before.

“Why are you - Lucifer, you’re freezing!” she exclaims, sleep pulling her voice down into a warm octave. He hums as he twists his body, draping his leg around her.

“LIke, _actually_ freezing!” She pulls the covers around him and holds him close. “Why are you so cold?”

“I flew.”

She stills. “What?”

“I flew. While you slept I … I went for a small flight over the city.”

“Oh.” She looks unsure of what to say. She knows he is sensitive about the topic and doesn’t know if this is a good or bad event in the string of Lucifer’s wing-related issues. “Okay, uh … and?”

“It felt ... amazing.”

She smiles and sets her head on his chest. Her hand rubs his arm, warming him up. “I’m proud of you. I wish I could have seen it. Maybe next time?”

“Mmm,” he hums in affirmation. His hand slides up to rest on the side of her body. She says nothing about its temperature, but he can feel her skin, hot and soft, heating the tips of his fingers. He knew it was the cold that makes them tingle, but he likes to imagine it is her.

Her hand slowly moves down to his crotch. She grabs his cock, feeling the cold between his legs. She turns her head up to him to find him grinning with interest. “Did you … did you fly naked?”

He looks at her as if that was not the thing he expected to come out of her mouth. “Yes,” he offers. “I suppose I could have put on a robe but-”

“How exactly does that work? I mean, was it just … flopping around?” 

He smiles and leans forward, rolling her onto her back. She giggles as he begins to kiss her on her neck, his hand sliding down her leg.

“I mean, was it just like a flag on a flag pole during high winds, you know?” 

He laughs a warm laugh and leans off of her, laying on his back in bed. She turns onto her stomach and leans on her elbows. He looks at her, a soft twinkle behind his eyes that she can’t get enough of.

“I’m happy for you,” she says, leaning forward and kissing his chest. He responds by pulling her close. He inhales her scent and holds her. They lay there for a few moments before his hand starts to roam south, sliding between her legs.

“Okay, moment gone,” she says, pulling away from him. “I have to go before my daughter wonders where I am.”

He grins and tilts his head. “She’s old enough to spend another hour by herself, Detective.”

“No, no,” she says, wagging her finger and slipping from beneath the covers. “I will not be tempted by you.”

He grins wider, his eyes descending her naked frame. He eyes her like it's the first time he’s seen her and he wants to see more. “I’m supposed to be pure temptation, though. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Chloe smiles, happy and relaxed as she puts on her clothing. Lucifer watches her from the warmth of the covers until she eventually slides her shoes and turns to him. She walks up the steps, leans over the bed and kisses him. He takes it on himself to reach a hand out and pull her onto the bed, deepening the kiss. She hums in pleasure and - oddly - protest before pulling away.

“Another time,” she coos.

“Are you sure?” His eyes pointedly moving to a noticeable tenting of his sheets. “You could help warm me up.” 

She smiles. “No, but … I have to go. We can spend more time together tomorrow.”

She pulls away from him and heads to the elevator.

“Time?” he calls after her. “You mean sex, right?”

She chuckles as the elevator doors close. “Goodnight, Lucifer!”

\--

By the time Lucifer strolls into the precinct with a drink holder full of coffee, Chloe is already at her desk. She cuts her eyes to the cups in his hands and a wide smile stretches across her face.

“What is this?”

“Coffee,” he says, pulling out a drink with her name on it. “Just how you like it.”

He hands it to her, and she eyes it suspiciously.

“Thanks.” She takes a sip of it and hums. It is perfect.

He sits in his seat next to her desk and she watches as he pours whiskey into his coffee from his flask. She smiles to herself and takes a sip of her coffee. 

“Mmmm,” she hums. “You didn’t spike _my_ coffee, did you?”

He pauses and turns to her. “No, did you want some?”

She chuckles and shakes her head. She sits up in her chair and sets the cup down.

“This isn’t a bribe, is it?”

“Bribe? No?”

“So this isn’t to get me to come over tonight?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I was hoping you’d be doing more than _coming_ over tonight, but no. Just … wanted to do something nice for you.”

She nods and turns back to her file. Her smile slowly falls, and she turns her eyes to him. He sips on his coffee, exceptionally pleased.

“Hey … uhm,” she says, looking around. She leans in. “Can we not tell anyone about us just yet? It's a little new and ... and I don't want to get people involved while we’re still figuring stuff out.”

He looks at her, confused. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“What? No! No, absolutely not. It’s just … you know if you are unsure about us, then I don’t want to rush into like … announcing it to everyone. You know?”

He narrows his eyes at her, slowly understanding.

“Right.”

“And I ... I don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want to, you know? It’s all new to us, both of us, so … we should be more thoughtful about how we approach things, you know?”

“Thoughtful? That’s not what I do, remember?” He smiles softly to let her know he is joking. She huffs, amused, and shakes her head.

“Listen, Detective, I-”

“Detective!” a voice yells.

They both turn to see the new Lieutenant, a burly man with a calm voice and steely eyes. 

“A word?” he asks.

She nods and stands. “Hold that thought.”

The Lieutenant opens his office door, and Chloe enters. The door closes behind him. Lucifer sighs and takes a sip of his coffee.

It wasn’t that he was unsure of Chloe or that he didn't want to spend as much time as he could with her. It was everything else. It was his uncertainty about his wings, about what they meant and how long they would stay. This is the first time he’s ever felt this way about anyone, the first time anyone felt this way about him. He was uncertain about how long that would last. He wanted to be with Chloe, but commitment? Bonding? That seemed … it still felt impossible.

He sips his coffee and broods, not liking the uncertainty of love. Just then, Dan passes his vision, and his eyes turn up.

“Ah!” he says, almost spilling his coffee as he stands. “Daniel!”

Dan casually glances at Lucifer. “It’s too early for you, Lucifer,” Dan warns, tossing a file onto his desk.

“When did you know you wanted to wed the Detective?”

Dan pauses, thinks, then turns to Lucifer. He looks him up and down before moving to sit on the corner of the desk.

“You have five minutes.”

“Well, you know I've never been the one for commitment. I find the whole structure of monogamy incredibly boring and restrictive.”

“You’re a man-slut, right.”

“Now, however, I -” Lucifer pauses, straightens with a look of offense on his face, and tilts his head. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a man-slut. You fuck anything that moves.”

“I - well, if anyone wanted to have sex with you, Daniel, I'm sure you’d be more than willing as well. It isn’t my fault your face is asymmetrical. Take that up with your parents.”

Dan scoffs and rolls his eyes. “What is the point of this conversation?” he asks, his patience wearing thin.

“Right, as I was saying. Recently, I’ve had the thought that I might want to pursue monogamy. Specifically, bonding.”

“Bonding?”

“Yes, a promise to God that we would take care of each other as kin.”

Dan huffs. “See, that’s your problem right there,” he says. “Marriage isn’t a religious thing. I mean, sure people make it out that way, but ...when I married Chloe it wasn’t a promise to God. It was a promise to her. That I would be with her, in sickness and in health. I mean, I got _the ‘til death do us part’_ thing wrong, but …”

Dan sighs, his eyes moving to watch Chloe through the glass wall of the Lieutenant's office.

“My marriage might have failed, but … I didn’t break my promise,” he says, turning to Lucifer. “When she is sick, I bring her soup. When she is well, I - I try my best to make her happy, and yeah, sometimes I fail but ... I try. All that matters is I try.”

Judging by the look on Lucifer’s face, Dan’s words are sinking in.

“We may not be romantically involved anymore, but … she’s forever a part of my life. I mean, we have a kid together. That is the mother of my child, right?”

Lucifer nods.

“So ... I mean, yeah. I’ve done a lot of shit in my life I'm not proud of. I’ve broken a lot of promises, but … I guess I knew I wanted to marry her because I looked at her, and I couldn’t imagine breaking that simple promise to her. That I would love her, and cherish her and care for her until we both die and rot and - and worms eat our bodies.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes. 

“Clearly,” Dan says, standing and turning to his desk. “I failed that from a romantic angle, but platonically I’ve got her back.” He plops down in his chair.

Lucifer nods and turns his head as Chloe exits the office, a smile on her face.

“So,” Dan says. “You officially have me interested. Who's the unlucky lady?”

Chloe approaches and stops in front of Dan’s desk, leaning on her heels with a smile on her face.

“Guess who just caught a serial killer.”

“What?” Dan says.

“Turns out the guy we’ve been hunting is confirmed attached to four other cases in Ohio and was just pulled over trying to leave the state.”

“I’m sorry, Chlo,” Dan says. “I know you’ve been working on this really hard.”

“I mean, sure. It’s upsetting that all my work is going to go to some cop in Ohio but ... the benefit is I get the rest of the day off.”

Dan smiles. “Trix is going to love that.”

Chloe turns to Lucifer. “It means you have the day off too, Lucifer.”

He nods at her and smiles.

“Maybe I’ll see you tonight?” She sets a hand on his arm, lovingly rubbing it before she walks away to her desk. Lucifer watches her with love behind his eyes.

He sighs and turns back to Dan to find him staring at Lucifer with knowing eyes.

“Uh uh,” he says, standing. “Nope. No.”

\--

The elevator doors open to the sound of Lucifer, dressed down in just a shirt and pants, playing an easy melody at his piano. Chloe walks in with her arms crossed and a set of manila folders held flat against her chest. She doesn’t make a sound as she steps forward, taking note of the way his body sways to the music and his fingers dance effortlessly over the keys. She is a few feet away from him when she is made aware of the fact that he knows she is there.

“I was hoping you hadn’t changed your mind about this evening.” With his right hand, he grabs the whiskey on top of his piano and brings the glass to his lips. She smiles and scoots into the spot next to him.

“Why? Because my ex found out we were kind of dating and argued with me for an hour over why it was too soon for us to get married?” He turns to her, a shimmer in his eyes that even now – after all they had been through – still takes her breath away. She had missed this Lucifer more than she knew.

“Not that we _are_ getting married, right?” she says, arching her eyebrows at him.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No. As much as you would look stunning in a wedding dress, I have no interest in that particular ceremony.”

She nods. “Yeah, one time is enough for me.”

He smiles and his eyes turn down to the files in her hands. He stops playing the piano and furrows his eyebrows.

“Detective. _Truly._ You need to learn when to turn it off.” He slides the files out from between her arms and sets them on top of the piano.

“Hey!” she argues.

She barely has time to respond before he is kissing her neck. She giggles attempting to push him away with playful pats on the shoulder. He continues to attack her with kisses until his lips meet hers and his quick, aggressive pecks turn into soft, languid and passionate kisses. He pulls her close, deepening the kiss in a way that takes her breath away. It momentarily silences any reservations or insecurities she has about them. Eventually, she pulls away from him, holding a hand on his chest as she catches her breath. Her eyes turn up to him, wanting to say so much but unsure of where to start.

“Join me on the balcony for a drink?” he asks. She nods, a small smile curling onto her face. This Lucifer is different as well. He radiates a strong stability, one she’s never felt from him before. Just being close to him is enough to make it feel like they move in sync, as one. He gathers the shot glasses from the bar as she slips her shoes off and tucks them beneath the piano. She waits for him and then they walk to the balcony together. She slides the door open for him and he smiles, stepping out into the fresh night air. He pours her a glass as she slides the door closed. When she turns, the glass is ready for her and their fingers graze one another as she takes it. Even when they look at one another, their eyes meet at the same time and say the same things. Chloe clears her throat and turns to look before sitting on one of the chairs.

“It’s been a long day.”

“Mm,” he hums.

They sit in silence for a long while. It isn't uncomfortable or strained, but whole. They enjoy the city skyline and the cool breeze coupled with the inner warmth of whiskey. Eventually, she pulls her knees up to her chest, getting more comfortable in her chair. Lucifer watches her for a moment before she turns her eyes to him and smiles.

“This is nice,” she says, relaxed. She tilts her head back. “It’s just nice to … breathe for once.”

He stares at her, unresponsive. She lazily tilts her head to him. “What?”

“I flew again.”

She smiles. “Were you naked this time?”

He blows air through his nose, amused, and shakes his head. “You’ll be happy to know there was no flapping about this time.”

She laughs and snorts. “Good.”

He turns his eyes back to the stars, and they are silent again.

“So, does it make you feel better?” she asks.

He regards her for a moment as if gauging her, then sighs. “Somewhat. I still don’t know what it means to have my wings back, but … I can’t argue that it makes me feel ... it makes me feel sad, but hopeful at the same time.”

She sets her almost empty glass of whiskey on a nearby side table. Then, she stands and climbs into his lap. He responds by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

“I kept my wings when I cut them off that first time because I felt uncertain and … I feel that way now. I spent too long trying to create something that was mine here. Something I could say was my own.”

She nods.

“The uncertainty of why dad chose to give me wings or why he made you, it’s ... It terrifies me. The idea that he can do and will do as he pleases when he pleases and I have no control over that.”

“I told you, the only thing we can control is how we choose to react,” she says.

He nods and smiles. “While I was flying I ... I started thinking about what you said. That it isn’t about what he did to us, or what he gave us, but how we choose to go on. What we do with it.”

She smiles and leans in and kisses him. He holds her tighter and she pulls away slightly, resting her forehead against his. 

“Which is why I’ve decided that you should preen me.”

She pops open her eyes, then pulls away from him. She stares at him for a moment, disbelief behind her eyes. “What?”

“I ... I find myself questioning. My place here, how long it will last, how long _we_ will last. There is nothing I know with a great deal of certainty except for how I feel about you.”

She pulls herself off his lap. “Lucifer, you just told me yesterday that preening was a commitment, akin to marriage! I - I mean I want to be with you but ... that’s a big jump. I’m not ready for-”

“Our bond won’t have to be lifelong or eternal. We can be bonded for as long as we are willing to be. As long as we _choose_ to be.”

“But Amenadiel said-” she argues.

“They are _my_ wings, Detective. Dad may have given them to me, but they are mine and I decide what they mean. I alone decide their meaning.”

She stares at him, her resolve wavering. “What about the whole … promise to God thing?” she asks.

He steps forward and places his hands on both of her shoulders.

“It would be a promise to _me_. Just me. For however long you felt the desire to. Consider it dating but with an added responsibility. I imagine if I’ll be keeping the things they will need preening from time to time.”

She huffs, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I mean, I figured If I were dating an angel, there would be _some_ differences.”

His loving smile falls. “I am the devil,” he says concisely and pointedly.

“You’re both. You can be both.”

They stare each other down. She tilts her head a bit, daring him to counter her, and he just chuckles in response.

“When?” she asks.

“Now, if you’d like. I think my brother left a few feathers in the back. Bloody useless, he is.”

Chloe playfully smacks him on the chest. “He’s your brother! Stop being so mean to him.”

He smiles, amused. It forces her to smile back. Soon their smiles fall, and they are left within the seriousness of the moment.

“Are you-”

“I am sure,” he responds. “Are you-”

“Yes.”

He nods and turns his head to the couch in the living room. “We should probably do this inside then.”

“Okay,” she says, trying very hard to hide her excitement. She does a poor job of it, however. can sense it. It puts a genuine smile on his face and a loving twinkle in his eyes that only makes her more excited.

They walk in together, and he shuts the door behind them. She approaches and sits on the couch, taking the position Amenadiel had taken only a day prior. He huffs, again, tickled by her interest. He moves into position and sits at her feet, his back to her.

He leans forward and allows his wings unfurl slowly behind him. They are gentle and roll cautiously out of his body, a stark difference from the way she’s seen them pop out before. They are different from the last time she saw them, too. They are smooth and ordered. What little light there is bounces off of them in a way that almost seems like they are glowing. Every bit, that is, except for the long, scraggly feathers at the center of his back. They don’t seem to have any purpose for flight and appear more for looks and decoration. She hums to herself.

“You uh … you think you can withstand this considering your tendency to … you know.”

“If you’re asking if I’m going to cum in my pants, Detective, the answer is no. At least, I will try not to.”

“You don’t have to try not to,” she says smiling and starting to rub her hand up the spine of his wing. 

It trembles and he huffs, already feeling the tingle in his body.

“I - this moment isn’t about sexual release. I don’t want to spoil it with my own sexual gratification.”

She smiles. “How noble.” She continues to run her hand up the bone of his wing before her fingers move down and slip between the primaries. He shuts his eyes and concentrates on his breathing. She can see the goosebumps on his arm.

“Does this feel good?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“If you could hurry this along, Detective …”

“This is my moment too, you know.”

He grunts and stretches his legs out flat on the floor. His hand comes to rest between his legs, as if that would do _anything_ to hold an erection back.

She trails her hands up his wing before finally settling her hands on the fluffy down where wings meet skin. She fiddles around, aweing at how seamless the connection is. She pushes her fingers into the muscle, feeling how it tenses beneath her prodding..

“Detective,” he says, clearing his throat.

“Sorry, am I making this _hard_ for you, Lucifer?”

He laughs warmly. “You are doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“No, no, I just ... it’s connected to you.”

“Of course, what did you think?”

“I ... never mind. What do I do?”

He sighs and shifts, scooting more towards her.

“You’ll need to pull out the down, the small fluffy bits first, then-”

“Hold on,” she says, scooting closer. “Let’s do this one at a time.”

“So, pull out the fluffy bits,” she says to herself. She cautiously pries his feathers apart before reaching in and feeling around. Beneath the feathers, she finds a soft stringy texture that reminds her of the inside of a comforter.

“Oh,” she says, intrigued. “It’s so soft.”

“Mmm,” he hums, holding onto the rising erection between his legs.

She feels around for a bit, trying to gauge how much down is there. It is warm inside his feathers, but it also feels like a mess.

“So, I just pull?” 

“Yes,” he says.

She inhales, not sure. “Okay,” she says, the uncertainty in her voice.

Her hand clamps down on a bundle of down and she pulls. It doesn’t come out right away, but Lucifer groans, his legs crossing.

“Am I pulling too hard?”

“Not hard enough,” he strains.

She pulls harder before she feels a pop and her hand comes back filled with fluffy down.

“Oh,” she says.

“Oh,” he moans.

She pauses and turns to him. She peeps over his shoulder to see his hand firmly gripping a full erection. She smiles and sets the down next to her on the couch.

“You ready?” 

“Hurry, please,” he responds.

She hums as she slides her hands up his back and through the long feathers that drape at his back. She can feel him shudder beneath her hands and bites her lip. Then, she reaches in and feels around for more down. Little by little, she works to pull out all the down. By the time she has pulled the last bit out, he is panting and sweating.

“Maybe we should take a moment,” he says, preparing to stand.

“I’m almost done,” she says, pushing him back down.

“Detective I … I've never edged this much. I’m afraid I can’t hold-”

“It won't take much longer. _Sit_.”

He whimpers and sits, both of his hands holding himself tightly.

“Okay, I did the down, what next?”

He swallows his spit and shakes his head, trying to clear his mind.

“Lucifer?”

“I ... uh. Right. Yes. On my left wing, towards the center, there is a gland. Feels like a nipple.”

She snorts. “What?”

“It's my oil gland,” he says. “You have to give it a little pinch and it will squeeze out the oil. Then you take that and drag it down the feather from the base to tip.”

She holds in her joke about the way he is describing this process and nods.

“Right, left nipple then lube feather. Got it.”

He huffs, amused but uncomfortable by how hard he is.

She feels around his left wing, all the while he tries to control his breathing. His hips begin to thrust upward on their own and he has to stop them. It is taking every ounce of restraint in his system to not cum. He could, but this moment would forever be spoiled. This was about more than sex and he wanted it to stay that way.

She continues to feel around his wing before she feels a little bump. “Oh, is this it?”

“Yes,” he nods, his eyes closed as he concentrates.

She feels it a little before she gently pinches it and pulls her hand out of his feathers. Nothing is on it. Her hand is, while not completely dry, oil-free.

She goes in again and pinches a little harder this time. Nothing comes out.

“Uh, am I doing this right?”

He nods. “Yes just ... pinch a little harder.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, Detective, you won’t.”

She grunts and stares at the set of wings in front of her before a small devious smile comes over her face. She leans forward, sliding her hands around his torso and coming to the front of his chest.

“Tell me how hard I have to pinch,” she says, her hands immediately moving so that she is holding his nipple between her fingers.

“This hard?” she says, gently squeezing his left nipple. “Or …”

Her right hand curves around his body and squeezes his right nipple. “This hard?”

He groans and tightens his hold on his cock. “Chloe,” he huffs.

“You need me to do that again?” she asks.

“Okay, this hard-” She pinches and rolls his left nipple between her left hand. “Or this hard.” She pinches his right nipple between her right hand. 

He bucks into his hand and moans. “Left,” he huffs.

“Hmm,” she says sliding her hands away, making sure to touch his body as much as she can.

She then goes back to his left wing and sifts through the feathers before again she comes across his preen gland. Then, she pinches and rolls it between her fingers until she feels wetness on her fingers. When she pulls her hand back, her fingers are covered in a strange blue and purple oil.

“Huh,” she says, not expecting that color. She goes back to the long decorative feathers between his shoulder blades and does what he told her. She drags the oil from the base to the tip of the feather. Each drag straightens the feather more and slowly the dull, scraggly feather she started with looks straight, clean and reflects light enough to make it look like it is glowing.

“That looks good,” she says, amazed at the difference.

He only groans in response, his hips tilting and he tries to keep from pumping into his hands.

Slowly, one by one each feather gets coated in oil until they all are pristine and reflect light. Lucifer shakes his leg, sweat dripping down his forehead as he tries to hold it in. His neck is red and his hands stay gripped tightly around his cock. He is panting loudly, his hips twisting and moving beneath her touch.

She hears him, squirming and it doesn’t leave her unaffected. Her neck is flushed with arousal, her fingers shaking as she finishes the last feather. When she is done, she sits back and huffs.

“Okay, I’m do-”

She barely has time to finish her sentence before he pops up and _runs_ to the bathroom, stumbling over his feet as he clambers up the steps. Right when he reaches the door to the bathroom, his hands come out and hold on tightly to the door frame. Then, his body shakes and he groans loudly, panting like he had jumped into a pool of cold water. His feathers tremble, his body convulsing as though he is being tazed. Eventually, he stills, panting in the open doorway.

She squeezes her legs together, adding pressure to the already insistent ache. She clears her throat as he lowers his arms and stands straight. His feathers fluff up and slowly he turns around. She watches as he approaches the steps, his back straight and his eyes incredibly dark. The wet stain on the front of his pants is visible as is the bulge that strains beneath it. With his wings spread and his eyes dark, he looks absolutely unworldly.

“Bedroom,” he demands.

She furrows her eyebrows. “What?”

“Bed. _Now_ ,” he demands again.

She smiles and shakes her head. “What? I thought you wanted to keep the moment special? Why the change of-”

“You know what you did,” he growls.

She swallows her spit and watches him for a moment. Her breathing becomes more labored as the tingling between her legs increases. The way he is looking at her, she wonders if this is what it is like to feel his desire trick. To be so encompassed by need for him that she willingly stands and approaches the steps. Lucifer watches her, expectation behind his eyes. She slowly ascends the steps, her eyes not straying from his. When Chloe reaches the bed, she sits on it.

He approaches her, so much stability in his frame that it leaves her zero room to question who she is dealing with. Lucifer Morningstar. The Angel, the Devil. Her eyes slowly roll up to him to find him staring at her with nothing but love. They wait there, unmoving and unspeaking. He watches her, and she watches him, both waiting. He breaks the stillness when his hands trail down to his waist. She watches as he unbuckles his belt before again looking into his eyes. He stares at her, his gaze unmoving.

They don’t say anything. When he is done unbuckling his belt he turns his hands to his zipper. Still, their gaze doesn’t shift, only intensifies. When his pants are unzipped he reaches in and pulls out his cock, the tip of it covered in cum. Her eyes drop down to his penis, then back to him. Without saying a word he brings his hand up to the side of her face, moving her hair out the way. Then, he pulls her close, off the bed and onto her knees. She willingly lets him move her, agreeing to the implication.

“You made a mess, Detective,” he says, his voice warm and authoritative. “Clean it up.”

She takes him into hand and he steps forward, close enough that she can wrap her lips around his cock. He slides into her mouth and her tongue licks him clean. It circles around the tip of his cock as she works him with her hand, milking him for more. He hums and holds the side of her face delicately as he softly pumps his hips into her mouth. Her cheeks hollow and tighten around his cock and she develops a rhythm. He moans and tilts his head back, her strokes becoming more eager and enthusiastic. She takes him deeper into her mouth, toying with pulling him into her throat. Then, she pops him out of her mouth and works him with her hands. She nibbles and kisses at the base of his cock before her attention focuses on his testicles. 

He groans as she works him and rolls his testicle in her mouth gently. When she pops it out of her mouth and then wraps her lips around his cock again, he moans and reaches a hand up to tweak his nipple.

“Is this what you wanted? To suck my cock?” he says breathily.

She hums at the sounds he makes and allows her free hand to wander. She rubs herself through her jeans. He tilts his head and watches her touch herself.

“It looks like this is what you wanted,” he coos.

He pulls himself away from her and she wipes her lip as he pulls her to her feet. 

They stare at each other still, no words exchanged. Just like the last time they made love, except this time feels different. This time it feels like it is going by his rules and she can’t help but feel excited by that. 

His hands go to her pants and he quickly unbuttons it before sliding them down her legs. She steps out of them and he tosses them aside before pushing her gently onto the bed. She bites her lip, her legs coming up as he moves closer and tugs on her underwear. He drags the fabric down her legs and tosses it aside.

“Should I take my-”

“I don’t want your words, Detective,” he chastises, kneeling at the edge of the bed. He pulls her legs apart, giving her no time to second guess. Then, his face is between her legs and his tongue is licking stripes up her pussy. He toys around with her lips before diving deep into her. She reaches out a hand and slides her fingers through his hair. He hums and turns his eyes up to her as she squirms beneath him.

She moans and adjusts herself on the bed, propping herself up with an elbow so she can watch. He gives her a show, taking his time licking and fucking her with his tongue.

“Lucifer,” she whines, her hips rotating into his mouth. When he finally wraps his lips around her clit her nails dig into his scalp. He groans as her legs lock around his head. He reaches up and uses his strength to push her legs apart, opening her back up to him.

“Yes!” she exhales. He alternates between sucking her clit and lapping the wetness from her center. He groans through it, taking joy in licking her. She begins to pant louder, her legs straining against his hands as they try to close. He takes one last lap up her pussy before pulling away. She uses the time to strip off her shirt and bra as he kicks off the fabric of his pants.

“Tell me what you want,” he says as she scoots back on the bed. He climbs over her, her hand immediately on his skin pulling him in.

“You,” she pants.

“You want me? Or you want my cock?” he coos.

“I told you, I want it all.” 

He pulls her legs apart and then yanks her forward towards him. She reaches up and pulls her hair from under her as he lines himself up. When he slides into her, he doesn’t do so slowly. He doesn’t test how receptive her body might be. Instead, he makes one long thrust all the way into her. It simultaneously makes her cry out in pain and pleasure. He pulls her legs up, draping her feet over his shoulders and leans forward.

“Lucifer!” she moans.

He slams his hips into her, sinking himself deep and hard into her pussy. She reaches down and holds onto his hips. She can hear him, his skin slapping against hers as he fucks her. Each thrust is followed by the sensation of him dragging himself through her insides.

“Shit!” she huffs.

“Lucifer,” she whines.

He watches her, his eyes never straying from her face. She pants and moans and holds onto his thighs tightly.

For a brief second his eyes angle down to watch between their legs. He watches his cock slide into her and come out with a slick sheen. His eyes cut back to her, her face scrunched up in pleasure.

“Do you like it when I fuck you?” he asks.

She doesn’t respond, she is too far lost chasing her own release.

“Please,” she begs, her grip on his thighs tightening as she pulls him close.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you like my cock.”

“I like your cock,” she whines.

“You like my cock?”

“I love your- I love you!” she cries. Her body quivers and he feels her pussy muscles clamp down around him. He fucks her through her orgasm and when she is done, he falls into his own. He thrust deep into her, filling her with hot cum with each pump. Then he stills, feeling his cock pulsate inside of her.

They lay there, connected and panting, until eventually Lucifer rolls off of her and collapses into the spot beside her on the bed. The penthouse goes silent as the sound of their conjoined panting fills the air. Eventually, her panting turns into a giggle and he turns to her. 

“I can’t believe that just happened.”

“What?”

“You were like ... bed, now! And I … I totally just listened.”

He chuckles and shifts onto his side, facing her. “Next time I’ll let you order me around, yeah?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “I order you around all the time.”

“Yes, but I like it.”

“I know you do.”

He falls back onto his back and she pulls herself close to him. He wraps his arm around her and pulls the cover over them. She sighs content, her eyes closing.

"Are we the first human-angel bond?"

"No," he says, turning his face into her hair.

“Who was the first?” 

“Raphael and Helena.”

“Helena?”

Lucifer nods. “She was a Greek woman. Daughter of a doctor. Raphael found her on one of his visits to earth. She was tending to wounded soldiers. He’s all about healing people and using his gift to make people better, so he healed them and taught her what he knew. She became quite the charmer.”

“And then they bonded?” she asks.

Lucifer nods.

“Are they still bonded?” 

Lucifer sighs and nods. “In a sense. Yes.”

She hums and tucks herself into the warmth of his arm. He turns his head to her, watching her with so much love behind his eyes. She looks like she is about to fall asleep.

“Darling,” he whispers. “When do you need to be home?”

“Mmm,” she grumbles, half asleep. “Not for another hour.”

He pulls her closer. “Would you like me to wake you before it gets too late?”

She hums in response, on the precipice of sleep. “I just want to stay here with you for now.”

He smiles. “I would like that very much.”

The inside of the penthouse is quiet and warm and comfortable. Outside, the world moves by. Cars honk and the club bumps below, but Lucifer couldn’t care less.

On the balcony by his bedroom, a single crow lands on the railing. It peers into the stillness of the bedroom. It tilts its head, watching Lucifer hold Chloe as she sleeps, a loving smile on his face. Slowly, his right wing unfurls and wraps around both of them. His feathers fluff up, happy and content. The crow tilts his head and blinks.

CAW! 

It barks before turning around, spreading its wings and flying away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another great big thanks to @jammededed for proofreading this fic for me and making great suggestions. 
> 
> Follow me on hrfiction.tumblr.com to stay up to date with my other fics and see when I update.


End file.
